Deep Lacerations
by Sashile
Summary: Set in season 6. A new teammember is brought in after McGee is injured. It doesn't take the team long to realize that something isn't quite right, but will they find out what before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1: Opening

Disclaimer--I don't own NCIS, nor will I ever. I just like borrowing the characters every once in awhile and making them do what I want them to do.

A/N: This is set in season 6, sometime in the near-ish future of where the show is now. McGee is temporarily off the team due to injury, and Vance finds a replacement for him without consulting Gibbs first. What the team doesn't realize is that the replacement has some injuries of her own, but hers aren't as easy to heal--and don't just involve her.

Please R/R. I love your comments and suggestions!

**Deep Lacerations**

* * *

The five-year-old girl frowned in concentration as she studied the selection of crayons displayed on the counter in front of her, her eyes jumping from the box to the drawing she was working on. She thoughtfully pulled two crayons from the box—tumbleweed and copper—and studied them further before selecting tumbleweed with a nod of satisfaction, adding hair to the person she was drawing, humming slightly as she did so.

"Hello," a deeply accented voice said from the threshold of the kitchen door. The girl turned to face the dark-haired man, a confused expression on her face.

"Who are you? How did you get in?"

"I am a friend of your father," the man replied, taking a seat on the barstool next to the girl.

"My daddy is in Iraq," she said with authority. "He's in the war. My teacher says that everyone who fights in the war is a hero." She paused as she again considered the crayons, selecting one in the green spectrum. "My mommy says that he's a hero."

"It sounds like your mother is pretty smart."

She nodded. "She's a doctor."

"I know." His voice had suddenly gotten cold. The girl's light eyes snapped wide open in surprise at the _click_ of a revolver's hammer. She knew that sound; she had heard it when her father showed her the gun and explained what it was for and why she shouldn't touch it until she was older. "If you scream, I'll blow your head off. Do you understand?" She nodded shakily. "Good. Now tell me: where is your mother?"

"Work," the girl managed.

"Who is watching you?"

"Jennie," she said, her voice still shaking. "The-the nanny."

"Where is your brother?"

"Upstairs. He's sleeping." She gave a small sob. "He's just a baby!"

"Shh," he said. "I am not going to hurt him. I am not going to hurt you, either, if you do what I say. Now, I want you to go upstairs and get your nanny and bring her back down here. Can you do that?" She nodded. "Good. Go." Not needing to be told twice, she bolted from the kitchen counter stool, tangled dark hair flying behind her.

Five minutes later, the nanny tied to one chair and the girl to another, the man pressed a button on the side of his cell phone and barked something that the girl couldn't understand. A minute after that, two men with dark hair and dark sweatshirts entered the Alexandria, VA townhouse, carrying a large object in a black bag between them. They heaved it onto the dining room table before walking away. A strange smile on his face, the first man walked over to the table. He stared at the bag for a minute before slowly pulling at the zipper handle. He turned back to the girl, that same strange smile still on his face. "Are you ready to see your daddy?" he asked before stepping out of her line of sight. Her eyes widened as she registered the form on the table.

She screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 2**

* * *

NCIS Special Agent Tony DiNozzo grinned to himself as he stepped out of the elevator, early for work for the first time in almost a month. It wasn't that there was anything specific keeping him from getting in on time; he just wasn't a morning person. Not today. If the darkened desks were any indication, he was the first to arrive. His grin turned slightly devious as he thought about what he had in his bag and his plans to surprise his fellow agents when they arrived.

He placed his bag on the floor behind his desk, taking a seat as he turned on his computer monitor, getting things ready before exacting his revenge on McGee and Ziva for their prank in the lab the other day. _Nobody messes with Anthony DiNozzo_, he thought, smiling again.

He reached over to turn on his desk lamp and almost jumped in surprise at what he saw in his peripheral vision. "Who are you?" he demanded as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.

The woman leaning against Special Agent Gibbs' desk slowly turned to face DiNozzo, giving him a moment to study her in more detail. Her thick, straight reddish-brown hair was tied in a neat ponytail; her tall, athletic figure was accentuated by a dark green button-down shirt and well-fitted dark brown slacks low on her narrow hips. He could make out a badge attached to her belt, but couldn't tell which department or agency it belonged to. "I'm waiting for Special Agent Gibbs," she finally replied.

"That didn't really answer my question," he said, giving her a wide grin. "Let me start. I'm Special Agent DiNozzo, but you can call me Tony."

She smiled slightly, an expression that didn't quite meet her light brown eyes. "Sonja Gracy," she introduced with a small nod. "I'm to be filling in for Special Agent McGee for the next few months."

DiNozzo frowned. "Filling in for McGee?" he echoed. Gracy frowned as well.

"You mean you didn't hear?" she asked. "He broke his leg on Saturday and is on a three month restriction from field work. I believe I was told that he will be down in Cyber Crimes for that time?"

"He broke his leg?"

"Agent DiNozzo," Gracy said firmly, "if you insist on repeating everything I say, it's going to be a long three months."

He grinned and gave a short chuckle. Before he could say anything else, he noticed his partner stepping out of the elevators and heading their way. "Good morning, Tony," Mossad Officer Ziva David said. "You are unusually prompt today."

"Yeah, well," he stammered, his voice trailing off. He tilted his head toward Gibbs desk, where Gracy was still standing.

"Who are you?" David asked, almost accusingly, her dark eyes narrowed.

"Sonja Gracy," the newcomer repeated. "I'm filling in for Special Agent McGee."

"Ah," Ziva said with a nod. "The broken leg has side-stepped him, yes?"

"Sidelined," DiNozzo corrected automatically. "And how did you know about the broken leg when I didn't?"

"Because I am his friend, Tony. After your comment—"

"I get it," Tony interrupted, annoyed. "Where _is_ the boss, anyway?"

"Right behind you, DiNozzo," Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs said, smacking his senior field agent in the head. He barely gave Gracy a second glance. "Grab your gear. Dead body at Annapolis." He was already heading for the elevator before anyone got the chance to respond.

"Sir?" Gracy called after him. "Do you want me to come?"

He finally turned and faced her, an almost confused expression on his face. "Who are you?"

She gave a small, exacerbated sigh, her first showing of emotion. "Doesn't anybody read their email around here?" At everyone's blank looks, she changed the question. "Doesn't anybody _send_ email around here? My director told me that your director would have this squared away."

"_Your_ director?" Gibbs echoed.

Gracy unhooked the badge from her belt and held it up. At that distance, all Gibbs could see was the gold, but it got the point across. "Army CID. Your director thought Agent McGee's injury would be a good opportunity for a short-term liaison position."

Gibbs studied her for a moment before he spoke. "Well, then, grab your gear and come liaise."

* * *

"CID? Really?" Agent DiNozzo asked conversationally as he slowed the NCIS truck to a stop at a red light.

"That is what the badge says," Agent Gracy replied dryly.

"Am I the only one around here who actually _works_ for NCIS anymore?" Gibbs reached around Ziva to smack Tony on the back of his head.

"I'm still here, DiNozzo."

"Well, I meant…Sorry, boss." Officer David chuckled at the sheepish expression on DiNozzo's face, a sound that was cut off abruptly as she was thrown forward in her seat after Tony stomped on the accelerator.

"You're a liaison as well?" Gracy asked Ziva. She nodded, but Tony answered for her.

"She was the _original_ liaison. Although, now that I think about it, she doesn't liaise much. She pretty much just works for us and makes vague threats about involving Mossad." Ziva rolled her eyes at him.

"So you're Mossad?"

Ziva nodded. "_Shalom_," she said with a slight smile. "Officer Ziva David."

"Nice to meet you," Gracy said with a small nod before turning to Gibbs. "I'm sorry if my presence here came as a surprise. I would have done a better job introducing myself if I had known that you weren't aware I would be joining you."

"Don't apologize," Gibbs said gruffly as DiNozzo slowed the truck to a stop at the gates of the United States Naval Academy. "It's a sign of weakness."

"Hmm," Gracy murmured, handing her ID card over to DiNozzo to give to the guard. "I remember a kindergarten teacher telling me that it takes a lot of strength to apologize."

"If you want to go teach kindergarten and fill the lives of children with brightness, don't let me stop you," Gibbs commented dryly. "We're here to investigate murders and piss people off. Apologies aren't in our job descriptions."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," Gracy said, just as dry as she replaced her credentials. Neither agent said anything further as DiNozzo followed the guards' directions to the crime scene.

"What've you got?" Agent Gibbs barked at the first person he saw as he stepped out of the truck. The young midshipman's eyes widened in fear.

"Uh, sir, I don't know anything, sir," he stammered.

"Then get me someone who does!" Gibbs snapped. DiNozzo and David watched the encounter with interest as they prepared their gear.

"There seems to be a bee in his hat," Ziva commented softly enough that her boss couldn't hear.

"Bee in his bonnet, Ziva," DiNozzo corrected. The Mossad officer frowned.

"Why would Gibbs be wearing a bonnet?"

"It's just an expression," he said with a sigh. "I thought you would have understood that concept by now." She rolled her eyes as she headed toward her boss, who was conferring with a naval officer.

"We don't know who he is," the officer was saying. "A little after 0530, a pair of midshipmen were doing PT on their own, running the campus loop when they came across our friend." He gestured toward the body. "They contacted the base MPs immediately and stuck around to make sure no one else stumbled over our body until the authorities arrived."

Gibbs nodded. "Sounds responsible."

"Both first-classmen," the officer replied with a nod. "And both in the top third of the class. They'll make fine officers."

"They touch anything?"

"They both denied it."

"We're going to have to talk to them."

The officer nodded and tilted his head toward a small crowd of officers and MPs. "They've both been under constant supervision since the MPs arrived. They both complained of the cold and were escorted back to the dorm—separately—to change into cold weather gear, and then escorted right back here."

"Do you suspect them of anything?" Gibbs asked with a frown. The officer shook his head.

"We just didn't want there to be any question about the accuracy of their statements. Gibbs nodded before turning to face his team.

"DiNozzo, sketches. Ziva, bag and tag." He frowned as he studied the CID liaison, suddenly aware that he didn't know her name. "Agent…"

"Gracy."

He frowned. "Gracie what?" he barked.

"Special Agent Sonja Gracy," she snapped back. "What do you want me to do?"

"You ever process a crime scene before?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Agent Gibbs," she said sarcastically. "I'm the only special agent with the United States Army Criminal Investigation Command who doesn't know how to investigate."

He ignored her comments. "Photos," he snapped before turning back to Ziva and Tony. "I'll go talk to the midshipmen who found the vic." He turned and walked away without a second glance, leaving the three younger investigators by the truck.

"Is he always like this?" Gracy finally asked. Tony and Ziva looked at each other before turning back to the CID agent and speaking in unison.

"Worse."


	3. Chapter 3

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 3**

* * *

CID Special Agent Sonja Gracy adjusted the long lens of the camera as she focused on the body. Frowning, she clicked the shutter before lowering the camera, walking toward the victim as if magnetically drawn to it.

Standing by the victim's feet, she slowly turned three hundred sixty degrees, documenting what the victim would have seen from any possible angle. Turning back to the body, she took several shots of him while standing before bending down to get a closer look.

She didn't move for a moment, her eyes fixed on the body. Without looking away, she pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and her phone from her belt. "Victim is a white male, aged from mid-twenties to early thirties," she said, using the dictation application of her phone.

_"Patient is a white male, between the ages of—"_

_"You know the exact age, Doctor. Do not play around. Lives depend on it."_

She blinked the memory aside, focusing on the body in front of her. "The victim is dressed in civilian clothes appropriate for local weather conditions—blue denim pants, gray thermal tee-shirt, black fleece-lined jacket. Shoes appear to be black combat boots, not shined." Her eyes scanned the body again. With a frown, she leaned closer to his torso. She pulled back, snapping several pictures with the camera before picking up her phone again. "The shell of the jacket is a synthetic material. There appear to be two burns on the front. Burn A is mid-torso on the left side, approximately along the mid-clavicular line. Burn B is lower and closer to center, likely several centimeters from the umbilicus when clothing is in the natural position. These burns are possibly consistent with a taser or stun gun." She frowned and reversed the dictation, erasing the last comment. A preliminary examination was no time for conjecture; that came later. Instead, she placed her left index finger next to each burn for a size comparison and snapped more pictures. "Each burn is roughly circular in shape, approximately two by two centimeters. The burns do not appear to penetrate through the lining of the jacket." She stopped the dictation while she thought about the sequence of events: at some point, the unknown man was walking through the USNA campus—she stopped herself when she realized that she didn't have enough evidence that he died there. In fact, she didn't have any evidence at all. She gave a frustrated sigh and continued her survey of the victim.

* * *

Agent Tony DiNozzo glanced over at his new teammate before turning his attention to his old one. "What do you think of your CID counterpart?" he asked quietly enough that Gracy couldn't hear.

Officer Ziva David glanced up from her crouched position to see her partner again studying the CID agent. She followed his line of sight a few feet to see Gracy crouched beside the victim, her camera forgotten around her neck, what appeared to be her phone in her left hand. "She does not seem to grasp of the concept of 'photos'," she commented. DiNozzo grinned.

"Gibbs won't be happy."

"Gibbs was already not happy with her," David pointed out.

"He did seem unusually upset with the idea of her being on the team," he agreed. "Even more so than he usually is when we have to work with CID."

"It was not working with CID that upset him before," David pointed out. "It was working with Lt. Colonel Mann that upset him."

To her surprise, DiNozzo grinned and again turned toward Agent Gracy. "And this one even has red hair," he mused.

"It is more of an auburn, yes?"

"Which is a shade of red," DiNozzo replied forcefully. Ziva rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her work. DiNozzo continued to study Gracy.

He watched as she appeared to alternate between speaking into the phone and snapping pictures with the crime scene camera, occasionally leaning in to look at something closer. He frowned as she picked up the victim's arm, pushing the jacket sleeve up to press into the skin of the forearm. "Hey!" he said sharply. "You can't touch the body until the ME arrives!" Gibbs looked up sharply from his interview with the two midshipmen to glare at the CID agent.

"I think we can make an exception in this case, Anthony," Dr. Donald Mallard, the NCIS Medical Examiner, stepped in smoothly. He smiled at the new team member. "Major Gracy, it is always a pleasure."

"It's Special Agent Gracy now, Ducky," she corrected gently, almost sadly. Dr. Mallard grimaced slightly.

"Ah, yes. I do apologize, Sonja. So, what brings you to our crime scene?"

She stood from her crouched position to better face Ducky. "Actually, I'm filling in for Special Agent McGee while he is convalescing. Directors Vance and Jackson seemed to think a CID-NCIS liaison position would be in the best interests of both agencies."

The ME nodded slightly, making a mental note to talk with her further when the rest of the team wasn't around. "Mr. Palmer," he commanded. "The temperature?"

"Ah, yes, Doctor. I'll get started," the medical examiner's assistance stammered in reply. Gracy appeared amused for a split second before her expression became serious again. Ducky turned back to face her.

"What can you tell me about our victim?" he asked, bending down to get a closer look. Agent Gracy did the same.

"White male, mid-twenties to early thirties," she began. "I can't be sure without a liver temperature, but I would say time of death is between two and four hours ago. Pallor has set in, but that doesn't say much—we already knew that he's been dead for longer than thirty minutes. Livor mortis has begun, but the skin on the underside of the wrist blanches, so it hasn't set in yet, which happens between four and five hours. It also means we can't say for sure where he died or how he was positioned when he did so. And finally, rigor has begun in the small muscles of the wrist—it's hard to extend his fingers—but not yet in the larger arm extensors or flexors. Rigor begins within two to four hours post-mortem, and is complete between six and twelve hours, depending on ambient temperature."

"Liver temp is 93.7 degrees Fahrenheit," Jimmy Palmer chimed in. Gracy raised her eyebrows.

"Based on the Glaister equation, that would put time of death right around three hours ago," she commented. By this time, the other agents had stopped what they were doing to focus on Gracy. Palmer's jaw was hanging slightly open.

"Very impressive, Agent Gracy," Ducky commended. Gracy smiled slightly.

"It's not my first time on the dance floor, Ducky," she said softly.

"Can you give me a cause of death?" Gibbs cut in sharply. The medical examiner and CID agent both turned to face him, studying him for a second before Gracy broke the silence.

"No," she said flatly. "Even if he had a bullet in his forehead, nobody could give you a cause of death without an autopsy."

Dr. Mallard nodded his satisfaction with her answer before turning to face her again. "Would you like to join me for the post-mortem examination, Agent Gracy?"

She shook her head, looking away. "I don't do autopsies anymore, Ducky," she said, her voice almost sad. She turned back to face him with an expression that was part challenge, part fear, and part vulnerability, and was gone as soon as it appeared. She turned and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 4**

* * *

"What've you got for me, Duck?" NCIS Special Agent Gibbs asked as he strode into Autopsy, not even letting the doors slide closed behind him. The medical examiner glanced up briefly before returning his attention to his microscope.

"It's too early to be sure, Jethro," he finally said. "I just finished the gross examination and am beginning microscopy."

"What's your gut instinct?" Gibbs asked, exasperated. Ducky sighed.

"Not all of us have your infamous gut. I prefer to make my conclusions based on the medical facts."

Gibbs frowned. "Are you okay, Ducky? You seem a little…distracted."

"I assure you, Jethro, I am more than capable of doing my job."

"That's not what I asked, Ducky."

Dr. Mallard ignored the comment and began his verbal report. "The body was clean," he began. "He has a few bruises, all from injuries between three and four days before death. It is doubtful they have anything to do with his death. His brain, heart, and lungs were all free of disease or trauma. X-rays showed a few well-healed fractures, but nothing recent. I have sent blood samples to Abby for toxicology, but at this point, this poor man's death is a mystery. It reminds me—"

"Do we have an ID?"

"Mr. Palmer collected a print card and took it to Abby. She would be the one to ask about his identity."

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully, glancing over at Palmer briefly. Ducky seemed to get the hint. "Mr. Palmer," he called out. "Why don't you go check on that toxicology report?"

"But, Dr. Mallard, Abby said she'll let us know—"

"Palmer," Gibbs interrupted. "He's telling you to get lost."

"Oh, right," the medical examiner's assistant said. "I'll go check on that report." He ducked out of Autopsy before anyone could say anything else. Gibbs slowly turned back to face his medical examiner, who was doing his best to look away.

"Ducky," Gibbs said, his voice low but with authority. "I need to know about Agent Gracy."

"Unlike most people you want information about, Jethro, Agent Gracy is alive and well and more than capable of answering any questions you may have. If you want to know about Agent Gracy, I suggest you talk to Agent Gracy."

"The reason I talk to you about these things is that I don't _want_ to talk to them," Gibbs explained, slightly exasperated. "I like to pick my own team, Ducky; you know that. I got blindsided with this 'temporary liaison' crap that Vance set up, and I would like to know what I'm working with." He paused. "She didn't seem like your typical crime scene investigator this morning, and you seemed to know her, which tells me that there's something unusual about her."

Ducky sighed as he realized that there was no way to avoid this conversation. "She's a forensic pathologist," he finally said. "Or at least, she _was_. She was Army trained at the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology for both residency training and a forensics fellowship. We met at a military pathologist's conference while she was a resident. Until a little more than a year ago, she was considered to be a rising star in the field of forensic pathology. Like all Army pathologists, she was extremely knowledgeable on gunshot wounds and the effects of explosives, but she also gained an expertise on anything involving a blade—stabbings, lacerations, disarticulations. As a fellow, she published the first paper on the use of depth measurements—"

"Ducky," Gibbs warned. "Does this have anything to do with _who_ she is?"

The medical examiner sighed. "I suppose not, Jethro, other than to explain that she had a very illustrious career ahead of her."

"So why did she leave it?" Dr. Mallard fixed the NCIS agent a look before walking away to the other side of the large room. "Duck," Gibbs said with even more emphasis than before.

"Let's just say that you aren't the only one to change careers because of family tragedy," Ducky said softly.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked, his voice low. Ducky shook his head.

"Now I really am putting my foot down, Jethro," he informed him. "If you want to find out what happened, you're going to have to ask Agent Gracy."

"That's not good enough, Ducky."

"It isn't my place to tell, Jethro!"

"Neither was telling Holly about my family, but that didn't stop you."

Ducky sighed. He had known that that would come back to haunt him. Against his better judgment, he began talking. "Agent Gracy's husband was an Army intelligence officer. While he was deployed to Iraq, his unit was captured. He was held and tortured for at least a week, maybe longer, before he finally succumbed to his injuries."

"They didn't do a very good job, then."

"Yes, well, Jethro, that isn't the point. The point is that they bagged up his body, brought him back to Alexandria, and set him up for autopsy on Dr. Gracy's dining room table. When she arrived home from work, she was forced to do a complete post-mortem examination on her husband's body. They wanted her to see exactly what they had done to him, inside and out." He sighed and glanced over at his friend. "I have read her autopsy report. To say that it was quite gruesome would be an understatement." He paused to study a microscope slide before continuing. "After that, she took six months of psychiatric leave, followed almost immediately by an honorable discharge from the Army. I had heard that she started working for CID. I am assuming that this is an agreement with the Department of the Army—"

"Ducky," Gibbs interrupted. "How did a group of terrorists force a trained military pathologist to do an autopsy?"

The medical examiner sighed again and looked Gibbs straight in the eye. "They held a gun to her five-year-old daughter's head and told her that if she didn't cooperate, they would kill the daughter."

For the first time in a long time, Gibbs was the one to break eye contact. He didn't say another word to Ducky as he left Autopsy. Terrorists killing an intelligence officer were one thing. Going after a five-year-old was another entirely.

* * *

CID Special Agent Sonja Gracy rose from her chair—well, Special Agent McGee's chair—as the elevator doors opened, revealing a well-dressed man struggling with a pair of crutches. "Hey, McGimp," Special Agent DiNozzo called out, a wide grin on his face. "'Bout time you joined us."

Special Agent Timothy McGee rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Tony, thanks for asking," he said sarcastically before turning his attention to the CID agent. "Agent Gracy? I'm Tim McGee."

"It's nice to meet you," Gracy said with a nod. She gestured toward the chair. "Please, sit."

"Thanks," he managed, collapsing into the chair as Gracy went to find a spare for herself. He turned back to DiNozzo. "Just so you know, Tony, I came by earlier, but you guys were already out on a case."

"That's right, Probie," DiNozzo scoffed. "We were working, because that's what field agents do. I know that's a difficult concept for you computer geeks—"

"I've been back in Cyber Crimes for four hours, Tony. Give it a rest." He gave Gracy a thin smile. "So. Welcome to the team."

"Sorry about your leg," she replied. He waved off her sympathy.

"I just wanted to give you a quick orientation to NCIS," he said.

"I think we can handle that, Probie," DiNozzo said, appearing right behind McGee, causing him to jump slightly. The dry chuckle he heard in his other ear told him that Ziva was standing there, too.

"Ignore them," McGee said, again talking to Gracy. "They're insane. She's a trained assassin, and he's, well, Tony." She smiled thinly at the descriptions as McGee braced himself for a head-slap from DiNozzo. "Anyway, I think the computer systems we use here are pretty much the same as you're used to at CID."

"Would you like me to requisition a new computer?" she asked. "I wouldn't want to mess up your settings."

He chuckled. "I don't know how things work at CID, but a requisition around here would take longer than your three months. Besides, there's no need. After the last time I lost this desk, I sectioned off the hard drive. That's the process of—"

"I know," Gracy interrupted with a smile. "You're not the first computer guy I've ever met. I'm assuming my CAC will work?"

McGee nodded. "The computers are all fitted with Common Access Card readers. If you have any individualized settings, they should show up as well."

She nodded before glancing up, seeing her two new teammates watching closely. "Is there anything else I should know about working here?"

McGee glanced over at DiNozzo and Ziva as well and sighed. "It would take too long to explain," he said, suddenly sounding tired. "DiNozzo quotes movies nonstop. It's okay to interrupt him, or just ignore him. Don't let Ziva drive—ever."

"Hey!"

"And Gibbs has these rules. They're not written down anywhere, but you're expected to follow them at all times."

"That sounds perfectly clear," Gracy said sarcastically. She gestured toward McGee's leg and changed the subject. "Getting that taken care of at Navy?"

He frowned. "Navy?"

She shook her head slightly. "Sorry. Army habit. Bethesda. We call it 'Navy'."

"Ah," he said, understanding. "To answer your question, yes."

"Who's the orthopod?"

"Dr. Devin Kocka. You familiar with the orthopedics department at Bethesda?"

"Some of them," she said with a smile. "I actually went to college with Devin. Texas A&M. He was neurotic."

"What?" he asked in alarm. She chuckled.

"Navy Reserve Officer Training Corps—NROTC. We had quite a few classes together. He was a chemistry major with a pre-med emphasis and I majored in forensic science. He's a really smart guy and a great surgeon. He operated on my shoulder. You're in good hands."

McGee nodded. "That's good to know. Thanks." She smiled in reply as DiNozzo's phone rang.

"That was Abby," he announced as he hung up the phone. "She has stuff for us." He was halfway to the elevator before Gracy realized she should be following.

"Thanks, McGee," she called out as the elevator doors slid closed. He waved in reply and glanced around the empty bullpen. With a sigh of defeat, he made his way to his feet and struggled with his crutches, resigning himself to three months in the subbasement, surrounded by the computer geeks. At least this time, he knew there was an end in sight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 5**

* * *

Forensic specialist Abby Sciuto bobbed her head in time to the music, turning as she heard the doors to her lab opening. "Tony!" she exclaimed, giving the NCIS senior field agent a large hug. "Ziva!" she said, repeating the process. She got to the third agent and frowned. "Who are you?"

Special Agent Sonja Gracy sighed. "That seems to be the question of the day," she said dryly. "Sonja Gracy. I'm filling in for Agent McGee while he's on medical profile." She nodded toward the evidence slips on Abby's desk. "I believe my name is on some of those."

"Oh!" Abby exclaimed, "_that's_ what it said! I couldn't read your handwriting."

"I hear that a lot. Agent DiNozzo said you have something?"

"Wow," Abby said, her eyebrows raised. "That sounded _just_ like something Gibbs would have said. He doesn't mince words much. 'Get to the point, Abs,'" she said, imitating the supervisory agent. "That's what Gibbs would have said."

"Abby," Special Agent Gibbs said from the lab door. He placed a Caff-Pow in front of her. "Get to the point."

"Right," she said with a grin. "We got an ID on the victim. It actually wasn't hard, once Jimmy got me the print card."

"He's in the system?" DiNozzo asked.

"Yes, but not _the system_ system," Abby replied. "And not the military system, either." She clicked on the display of her plasma screen, revealing what appeared to be a service record. "He's a cop. Ann Arundel County Police Department, to be exact. That's the county Annapolis is in. He works—"

"Abby," Gibbs interrupted. "The name?"

"Oh, sorry, Gibbs. Justin Chase. And—"

"Anything on the tox report?"

"Gibbs," she said, exasperated. "You need to let me finish. Anyway, his tox screen was completely clean. I even checked for things we don't usually check for, and nothing came up. Major Mass Spec took a gander at it, too, and there was nothing. He's clean."

"So how did he die?"

Abby shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Gibbs," she said apologetically.

"What about electricity?" Gracy asked, seemingly out of nowhere. Everyone turned to face her. "I know, that's usually the medical examiner's call—"

"Why electricity?" Gibbs interrupted.

"He had taser burns on his jacket," Gracy explained. "Well, I guess I should say, he has burns consistent with a taser. The probes didn't penetrate the lining of the jacket, but if he was tased once, someone could have tried again."

"I thought about that, too, when I saw the burns," Abby admitted. "So I checked the rest of his clothes, and there wasn't anything consistent with tasers or stun guns anywhere else on his clothing, so I just discounted it."

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee, not commenting. "How did Chase get on base?" he finally asked. The three investigators turned to each other.

"Every military ID going through the gates gets scanned," Gracy pointed out.

"Chase did not have a military ID," David countered.

"Which means he would have needed a visitor's pass. Those should be logged, if the gate contractors did their jobs."

"Get on it," Gibbs ordered. "If he was going through the gate at the same time as someone, I want to know who." The three nodded and murmured their assent as they headed for the elevator.

Abby watched Gibbs watch the agents walk away. "So, what's with the new member of Team Gibbs?"

He took another sip of coffee before turning to his forensic scientist. "I haven't decided yet."

* * *

"Thank you, sir," Special Agent Sonja Gracy said as she hung up the phone. She turned to the other two investigators. "Officer Justin Chase was issued a visitor's pass at the Visitor Access Center at 1630 yesterday afternoon. He arrived in the vehicle of one Midshipman First Class Kerry Peete. Unfortunately, military bases don't make a habit of recording people leaving, so nobody noticed when he stayed beyond the visiting hours, ending at 1700 last night."

"So we need to talk to Midshipman Peete," Officer Ziva David commented.

"She's on her way," Gracy said with a nod. "That was the superintendant of the Academy. He's sending her in, in MP custody."

"You ordered a midshipman to NCIS for questioning without telling Gibbs first?" DiNozzo asked, his eyes wide. Gracy frowned.

"Actually, the superintendant of the Naval Academy ordered the midshipman to NCIS for questioning," she told him. "I didn't say anything. The contracting company that guards the base wouldn't give out information on student movement without the permission of the superintendant, despite the fact that they know about the dead body found there this morning. Anyway, the superintendant wants to do whatever he can to help NCIS' investigation, including ordering his midshipman to report for questioning."

"What've you got?" Gibbs asked as he suddenly appeared by his desk. Gracy, caught off-guard by the sudden entry, opened her mouth to speak, but DiNozzo was faster.

"Officer Chase got on base with a Midshipman Kerry Peete yesterday afternoon," he reported.

"So get her here," Gibbs replied.

"She's on her way," Gracy said quickly, before DiNozzo could speak. "The superintendent of the Naval Academy is having her brought here under MP escort."

Gibbs nodded. "Let me know when she arrives," he ordered, already walking away. "Good work…Agent Gracy." Ziva laughed at the offended look on DiNozzo's face.

* * *

"You are in for a treat," Agent DiNozzo commented to Agent Gracy as they stood in the interrogation room observation bay. She frowned slightly at his words.

"How so?" she asked when he didn't elaborate.

"You haven't _seen_ an interrogation until you've seen Gibbs do one. It's inhuman, really. Like I told the recruit awhile back, bad guys would rather confess than face Gibbs in interrogation."

"I'm not so sure Midshipman Peete is the bad guy," Gracy mused thoughtfully, studying the petite blond sitting nervously in the interrogation room.

"What are you talking about?" DiNozzo asked with a frown. "She looks terrified. She _clearly_ has something to hide."

"Oh, I'm not saying she's completely innocent," Gracy replied, turning to face him. "She brought a guy back to campus for a sleep-over. That's a major offense. Getting caught could mean the end of her Academy career."

"Harsh," DiNozzo muttered. "I knew there was a reason I didn't go to one of the academies."

"You mean aside from the fact that you could not get in?" Ziva commented.

"Hey!" he protested. "I'll have you know, the application process for Ohio State is very rigorous—"

"They made you count the number of foul balls?"

"Foul _shots_, Ziva," he shot back. "And you know, the life of a Division I varsity college athlete is very difficult."

"It just requires good time management skills," Gracy commented off-handedly. She had a slight glint to her eye as she said, "But I'm guessing that was the difficult part for you?" Ziva chuckled at her partner's expense. All three went silent as Gibbs entered the interrogation room.

Midshipman Kerry Peete jumped slightly at the sound of the door opening. "Midshipman," Agent Gibbs said with a nod of his head.

"Is it true?" Peete blurted out. "The dead body? Is it really Justin?"

Gibbs arched an eyebrow. "What do you think, Midshipman?"

The young woman's blue eyes filled with tears. "Oh, God," she murmured. "When he didn't answer his phone, I hoped he just turned it on silent and didn't hear it…"

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Gibbs suggested. Peete nodded.

"Justin and I arrived on campus around 1630 yesterday," she said. "The guards reminded us that visiting hours end at 1700, as if I didn't know that after three and a half years in that hell—"

"Then why check in so late?" Gibbs interrupted. The midshipman looked up at him, a guilty expression on her face.

"My roommate's on the basketball team," she admitted. "They have an away game tonight that they left for yesterday, so I had the room to myself."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow again. "And here I thought having overnight guests at USNA was against regulation?"

Peete's eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, God," she muttered. "It was stupid, I knew it was stupid. We don't usually do anything like that—"

"He's a little old for you, isn't he?" Gibbs asked out of the blue. He picked up a folder. "According to his service record, he would have been twenty-eight next month."

Peete nodded. "And I'm barely twenty-two," she finished. "I know. Justin was my brother's best friend. They enlisted in the Marines together after high school and were shipped off to Iraq together. Justin was there when Kevin died. He told him to watch over me." She shook her head. "Stupid," she murmured. "I don't need anyone to take care of me. I was at the Academy already when Justin left the Marines. He applied to a bunch of police departments around Annapolis, even though his parents still live in Nebraska, where we grew up." She shrugged. "We've been dating since."

"Any problems?"

"Other than Annapolis' ridiculous dating rules? No. We've been talking about what we're going to do after I graduate, if he's going to follow me to flight school…Oh, God," she murmured again, her voice growing thick. "I guess we don't have to worry about that now. First Kevin, then Justin…"

"Anyone disapprove?"

Peete shook her head. "No. My family has always loved Justin, treated him like another kid when we were growing up."

"What about at Annapolis?"

She started to shake her head, then stopped. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I mean, my friends knew him, but with his job and the Academy rules, we didn't spend a lot of time together with a bunch of other midshipmen. Last night, though…"

"Last night?" Gibbs prompted as Peete's voice trailed off. She sighed heavily.

"My chemistry lab tutor, Tom Brenner, stopped by my room last night to ask if I needed help with lab report. He saw Justin and acted a little…weird."

"Weird how?"

"Weird like, disapproving, I guess. Or maybe…disappointed. I don't really know. He was only in the room for like, two minutes before he left, said something about just remembering that he had to get something in for his med school application." Her eyes went wide. "Do you think Tom could have had something to do with this?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice soft. "I mean, I hardly know him, but there have been times I've looked up in lab and seen him staring at me with this really creepy look on his face." She shrugged a shoulder. "I didn't really think much of it. I mean, the school is about eighty-five percent male, I'm kinda used to some creepy looks from the guys. All of the girls are." She paused. "Tom was a corpsman before coming to Annapolis and now he's pre-med. I guess he would know how to—." She stopped abruptly, shaking her head.

In the observation bay, Special Agent Gracy's eyes widened slightly. "_That's_ how he did it," she muttered to herself. Without a word of explanation to her new partners, she left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 6**

_Thank you for your reviews! Please, keep them coming. Let me know what you think and what you think should happen :)_

* * *

Jimmy Palmer glanced up as the doors to Autopsy opened. Expecting Agent Gibbs, he did a double take at the sight of CID Special Agent Sonja Gracy, a stray lock of light reddish hair over the determined look on her face. "Can I help you?" he asked, somewhat nervously. After the way she rattled off the signs of the death and estimated a time of death—without a liver temperature—he didn't quite know what to make of the CID agent. After assisting with Officer Chase's autopsy, Palmer found an article out on the work desk. Thinking that Dr. Mallard left it for him, he read it, not sure what the use of depth of lacerations in determining the gender and age of the assailant had to do with the case until he noticed the author line. The lead author was Major Sonja A. Gracy, MD, Armed Forces Institute of Pathology. Now that he knew that she was a highly respected pathologist, she made Palmer all that much more uneasy.

Gracy stopped in her tracks and turned toward him, her eyes focusing as she tucked that loose bit of hair behind her ear. "Is Ducky around?" she finally asked.

"He just stepped out. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Officer Justin Chase's body," she replied bluntly. Palmer frowned.

"Why?"

"I need to look at it," she replied, looking at him slightly askance. "Oh, and I need a hand lens."

"I can't let you access the body without supervision," he said, stammering slightly. She frowned.

"Then supervise me," she snapped. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, looking away. "Sorry. I really do know what I'm doing. I'm a forensic pathologist." She paused. "Well, I was. Technically, I still am certified, I just don't practice anymore." She turned back to Palmer. "The body?"

"Oh, right," the medical examiner's assistant said quickly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Even though he already knew that, hearing her say it aloud made him realize how little sense it made to keep her from examining the body, especially considering she practically did so at the crime scene. "Right over here." He pulled out a lower drawer and stepped aside. She smiled thinly at him as she grabbed a pair of latex gloves and the hand lens, and got to work.

* * *

"DiNozzo!" Agent DiNozzo's head snapped up at the sound of his boss' voice, seeing the supervisory agent heading his way, a stern expression on his face and that ever-present cup of coffee in his hand. He wondered, not for the first time, how Gibbs managed to get from Interrogation to the coffee shop and up to the bullpen so quickly. For a brief second, he wondered if there was some red-headed barista down there whom Gibbs flirted with to get that kind of service. Realizing that it was probably one of those things he'd never know the answer to, he forced himself back into the moment.

"Yeah, Boss?"

Gibbs stopped at his desk and glanced around the bullpen, seeing both DiNozzo and David sitting at their desks. "Where's Agent Gracy?"

"She said something about knowing how he did it and left the observation bay," Officer David answered. "She did not explain further."

"Find her," he said, his tone leaving no question that it was a command. "And then get to Annapolis and pay Midshipman Brenner visit." He began walking away before he even finished the sentence.

"And what are you doing, Boss?" DiNozzo called after him. Gibbs half-turned and fixed him with a look, not even breaking his stride.

* * *

Dr. Mallard stopped three steps into Autopsy, his eyes fixed on the scene in front of him: Special Agent Sonja Gracy crouched over a body extended from the lower drawer, Jimmy Palmer leaning over from the other side, trying to figure out what she was doing. "Ducky," Gracy said, her eyes not moving from the hand lens she was peering through. "If you were going to give someone an IV injection, where would you do it?"

"An IV?" Mallard asked, trying to follow what she was asking. "I haven't had to start an IV since my days as a medical officer with the—"

"Exactly," Gracy interrupted. "If you haven't injected someone IV for years, where would you do it?"

"I suppose the antecubital fossa would be the ideal choice," Ducky said thoughtfully. "The median cubital veins are large and very superficial."

"That's what I was thinking," Gracy murmured. As he approached, Ducky could see that she was studying the inside of Chase's elbows, using the gloved fingers of her left hand to gently stretch the skin taut as she used her right hand to hold the lens. "Midshipman Peete, Chase's girlfriend, mentioned a possibly jealous Mid who used to be a corpsman."

"Ah," Ducky said, understanding. He frowned. "Abigail's toxicology screen came back negative, so you must be thinking—"

"Air embolism," Gracy finished. "Gotcha," she breathed. She shook her head slightly. "No erythema or ecchymosis around the puncture site. It was immediately pre-mortem and cleanly done. Mid-sized needle, maybe 18 or 20 gauge." She straightened and beamed. "You should go tell Gibbs."

"It was your discovery, my dear," Ducky told her. "You should be the one to break the news." She opened her mouth to object, but didn't get the chance as DiNozzo and David rushed in.

"There you are," DiNozzo declared. "Come on, we're going to Annapolis."

"Midshipman Brenner?" DiNozzo nodded. "Good. Let's go." Both Tony and Ziva blinked in surprise as her determined stride beat them through the doors.


	7. Chapter 7

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 7**

* * *

"Visiting hours end in an hour," the guard commented as he handed the three ID cards back to the agents in the dark sedan.

"Think of this as a free pass," NCIS Special Agent Tony DiNozzo said, quickly flashing his badge before rolling up the window and continuing into the base, headed toward Bancroft Hall, the main building of the United States Naval Academy.

The Academy superintendant was standing at the door with two MPs as the three agents approached, their credentials already out. "Agents," the Navy captain said with a nod. "Midshipman First Class Brenner is in the chemistry lab. We have been observing him, but haven't said anything, as you requested." He paused. "Would you like us to take you there?"

"That would be nice," Agent DiNozzo replied dryly. The superintendant nodded and led the way.

"Hey," CID Special Agent Sonja Gracy said quietly as they headed toward the chemistry department, "do you guys mind if I take the lead on this one?"

"You sure you can handle it?" DiNozzo asked with a grin. Gracy rolled her eyes.

"I may not be NCIS, but I do know what I'm doing," she replied. He glanced over at Ziva, who shrugged. He nodded his assent.

Gracy was the first through the door to the lab. "Midshipman Brenner?" she asked politely. The average, nondescript student glanced up.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, a look of confusion on his face. Gracy flipped out her credentials.

"Special Agent Sonja Gracy, Army CID," she announced. "I'm working with NCIS on the investigation into the dead body found this morning."

"The body?" he asked in alarm. "I didn't even know the guy!" His attention focused on Gracy, he missed the knowing look that passed between DiNozzo and David; it wasn't the typical response an innocent man would have given in that situation.

"We're looking into everyone who may have had contact with Officer Justin Chase," Gracy continued.

"Officer?" Brenner asked weakly. She nodded.

"Ann Arundel County Police Department," she said. "Midshipman Kerry Peete said you saw him last night."

"Kerry Peete?" he asked, feigning ignorance. Gracy rolled her eyes.

"Let me guess," she said dryly. "You don't know her, either?"

"Short, with blond hair?" he asked with a frown. "I think she was in one of the labs I tutor."

"She was," Gracy informed him. "Which you would know for sure, considering you stopped by her room last night to ask if she needed help with her lab report. Apparently, you had forgotten that you had to do something for your medical school applications, and left after about two minutes." She paused. "Those med school apps are a bitch, aren't they?"

He blinked in surprise. "I thought you said you're with CID?"

"Well, yeah," she replied. "I went to med school first. Georgetown. Where are you applying?"

"Everywhere, ma'am," he said with a short laugh. "I've been accepted to a few, but I'm still keeping my fingers crossed for USUHS."

She nodded her head slowly. "Not a bad school. I think you're out of luck, though."

"Why's that, ma'am?"

"They don't have a campus at Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary," her voice suddenly cold. Standing in the background, DiNozzo's eyes widened slightly. The techniques weren't the same, but Gracy was almost Gibbs-like with her interrogation techniques.

Brenner stuttered in disbelief, barely able to form words. "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am."

"You stopped by her room last night and saw her there with Officer Chase. Now, you're a first-classman and on your way into the medical corps, so I know you're not stupid. It was after visiting hours and her roommate was gone for the night, so you knew what was going on. What was it? Jealousy? Anger? What motivated you to fill a syringe with air, attach an eighteen gauge needle, and stick it in Officer Chase's left median cubital vein?" At his surprised expression, she nodded. "Yeah, I saw the puncture wound. When I said I used to be a doctor, I should have been more specific. I was a forensic pathologist. It's not too difficult for me to figure out exactly how someone died."

A series of emotions played across Brenner's face before he sighed in defeat. "She's a rugby player," he said. "They're supposed to be crazy, wild. I met her the first time when we were plebes, and she was always so…aloof, so pretentious. I asked her out a couple of times, but she always gave some excuse. Then I saw her in her room with that, that guy, in those old combat boots and worn jeans. I don't get it! I helped her with her homework and watched her rugby games—"

"Her brother died in Iraq the spring of her senior year of high school," Gracy interrupted angrily. "His best friend came home eight months later and got a job in Maryland to watch over her and make sure she was okay. She wasn't _aloof_, Midshipman. She was _grieving_, and she didn't need a pre-med chemistry major to help her through it." She heard the catch in her voice but continued, hoping it wasn't as obvious to anyone else as it was to her. "She needed someone who knew what she was going through, someone who could explain what happened and let her know that it was going to be okay, and that person was Justin Chase. And you _killed _him."

"I—I—." He hung his head in defeat. "I don't know why I did it," he whispered. Gracy pulled the handcuffs from her belt.

"Midshipman Thomas Brenner, you're under arrest for the murder of Officer Justin Chase," she began. Limp with disbelief and distress, Brenner didn't even realize it when Gracy fumbled with the handcuffs, but Officer Ziva David did.


	8. Chapter 8

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 8**

_A/N: Please, R&R! I like hearing what you think about the story._

_BTW, those TIVA scenes on Tuesday! Gotta love it._

* * *

NCIS Special Agent Tony DiNozzo balled up a piece of paper and lobbed it at CID Special Agent Sonja Gracy. "Hey!" she exclaimed, looking up from the arrest forms she was filling out on her computer.

"Not a bad first day, Dr. Agent," he commented.

"_That_ is the nickname you are giving her?" Officer Ziva David asked from the third desk. DiNozzo gave a dismissive wave.

"It's a work in progress," he replied before returning his attention to the new agent. "Found the body, processed the scene, and got the bad guy, all in one day. Not bad."

"Thanks," she replied with a slight frown, wondering where this was going. She saved the report before emailing it to Agent Gibbs and the directors of both NCIS and CID.

"You should come out for drinks with us," DiNozzo continued. "It's tradition. A couple of traditions, actually—new probie _and_ finishing a case."

"I'm not a probie," Gracy pointed out.

"And when was the last time we had a new team member, Tony?" David followed up.

"Well, still, we finished a case, so let's go." He was already standing, gathering his stuff to go home for the night. Gracy shook her head and gave a small smile.

"Sorry, but I already have plans," she said, also rising to prepare to leave.

"Oh, come on," DiNozzo protested. "What could be more important—or more interesting—than getting to know your new team?"

She gave him an enigmatic smile as she buttoned her coat. "You wouldn't understand, Agent DiNozzo." She nodded to both teammates, heading toward the elevator. "Have a good night. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs leaned against the balcony railing, sipping his coffee. He heard Director Leon Vance approach, but chose not to acknowledge the intrusion.

"Good work today, Gibbs," Vance finally said. Gibbs took another sip of his coffee as he watched DiNozzo toss a wad of paper at Agent Gracy. "It looks like she's fitting in well."

"Did you pick her for my team because of her family?" Gibbs asked, turning toward his director, a challenging expression on his face. Vance was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Agent Gracy is still fairly new to CID," he finally said. "And her training is a bit…unconventional, for an agent. She's having problems fitting in. Her director thought this would be a good experience for her, a chance to learn from one of the best."

Gibbs smirked slightly at the last comment, but let it go. "Unconventional?" he echoed. "You mean, she was trained as a doctor, not an agent."

"In addition to a board certification in forensic pathology, she also has an undergraduate degree in forensic science," Vance informed his agent. "The only person in this building with more formal forensics training is Abby Sciuto." Director Vance paused to watch Gracy rise and head for the elevators. "She just has no _practical_ training. Just look what you've done with your team, Gibbs: you've turned a computer geek, Mossad assassin, and…Tony DiNozzo into finely tuned investigators."

"I'm not here to do CID's job," Gibbs said gruffly, pushing himself away from the railing. "If they can't manage to train her, they should find a position for her in a lab somewhere."

"Give her a week, Gibbs," Vance told him. "If you're still unhappy then, I'll send her back to CID and give you your pick of NCIS agents to fill in for McGee until he's cleared to return to field duty. Deal?"

Gibbs walked away without responding.

* * *

"Here's to another dirtbag behind bars," Tony DiNozzo announced as their drinks arrived, clicking the top of his glass of beer against Ziva's mojito before taking a drink. "You okay?" he asked with a frown when she didn't say anything.

"There is something discerning about Agent Gracy," she finally responded.

"Disconcerting or discomforting, Ziva," he corrected, then frowned. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged a shoulder as she took another sip of her drink. "Did you see the way she handcuffed Midshipman Brenner?"

"I wasn't paying that close attention."

"She fumbled with the handcuffs," Ziva informed him, "and dropped Brenner's arm. Had she done that with a more aggressive suspect, he would have pulled free and left her in a compromising position."

He smirked involuntarily at the words 'compromising position', but then quickly sobered when he realized that she was being serious. "I'm sure it was nothing, Ziva," he argued.

"I just do not think she is a well-trained agent."

"You kidding?" DiNozzo scoffed. "You saw how she analyzed that crime scene this morning, and that interrogation! Not quite like anything I've seen before, but it definitely got the job done. Not only did Brenner confess, he was in _tears_ when she was done with him!" Ziva frowned, but didn't elaborate on what she was thinking. His eyes glinted mischievously. "Are you _jealous_, Ziva?"

She snorted. "Of what? Agent Gracy has barely spoken to you all day."

His grin widened. "You saying that you get jealous when other women speak to me?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I can kill you using only this glass," she threatened. She continued to glare at him, challenging him to say something, but he only smirked and took another drink of his beer.

"Hey, guys," Tim McGee said as he hobbled over to the bar, where his teammates were sitting. DiNozzo placed a hand on the empty barstool next to him.

"Sorry, Computer McGeek," he said, "this is for field agents only."

"Very funny, Tony," McGee said with a roll of his eyes as he took a seat on the other side of Ziva. "I heard you guys opened and closed your case today. Impressive."

"Yeah," DiNozzo said. "Your replacement has been here for a day and she's already better at your job than you are." He took a sip of beer. "Although Ziva seems to think that she's some sort of spy. Either that, or she just wants yours truly all to herself." He waggled his eyebrows, earning eye rolls from both partners.

"I did not say that I believe her to be a spy," David argued, ignoring his second comment. "But if I had, it would not be the first time. Remember Agent Lee?"

"What are you thinking about Agent Gracy?" McGee asked Ziva, instantly sobered by the thought of what Michelle Lee had done. She briefly explained the events of the day, from how Gracy focused on the body at the scene to the cryptic comment about knowing how Brenner killed Chase to the interrogation in the chemistry lab and the statement that she had been a forensic pathologist. To their surprise, McGee seemed to brighten at her descriptions.

"A medical examiner who becomes a federal agent? That would make for a great book." Both Tony and Ziva smacked him the back of the head.

"Shut up and drink your beer, Probie."


	9. Chapter 9

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 9**

* * *

As she had done the morning before, Special Agent Sonja Gracy beat her new team to the bullpen, already working on reports when Special Agent Tony DiNozzo arrived. He eyed her for a moment before speaking as he tossed his bag under his desk. "How'd the hot date go last night?"

She raised her eyebrows as she turned to face him, an amused expression on her face. "What makes you think I had a hot date?"

He shrugged. "I figured that would be the only thing to keep you from going out to drinks with your teammates."

"No, Agent DiNozzo, that is the only thing that would keep _you_ from going out to drinks with your teammates," she replied with a slight smile. He waited for her to say more, but she went back to her reports without another word.

"Good morning, Tony," Officer Ziva David said as she entered the bullpen. She quickly glanced over at Gracy, but turned her attention back to DiNozzo without saying anything.

"Second day in a row I beat you in, Ziva," he smirked. "You're slipping."

She smirked back at him as she sashayed over to him, a seductive look on her face as she leaned over his desk, her face inches from his. "I was not aware you were paying such close attention to my every move, Tony," she said, her voice low and husky. "That makes me feel so special."

"If you're not going to kiss him, David, I believe you have some reports to finish," Special Agent Jethro Gibbs said as he headed for his desk. He caught the eye of Agent Gracy as she tried to keep from laughing. "Gracy," he barked. "I haven't gotten your arrest report yet."

The amused expression on her face quickly turned into one of surprise. "I emailed it to you last night, sir." He glared at her over the desks.

"He doesn't check his email," DiNozzo explained. "And he doesn't like to be called 'sir'."

She turned back to face Gibbs, a look of understanding on her face. "Especially by former officers," she stated, not a question. She ignored the confused looks on DiNozzo's and David's faces. "It took me years to get in the habit of calling my superiors 'sir' and 'ma'am'. It'll take me awhile to break it," she paused a beat before adding, "Agent Gibbs."

He took a sip of coffee to hide the grin that flitted across his face. He had to admit, she was quick with the comebacks, and didn't seem to be fazed by anything, two qualifications that he felt were necessary in agents. "Print it out and get it on my desk by 0830," he demanded. She rolled her eyes and got to it.

* * *

Lunch had come and gone when Gibbs got the phone call they all knew was coming. "DiNozzo!" he barked as he hung up the phone. "Gas the truck. We got a case."

"Where to, Boss?" DiNozzo asked as he slipped his Sig into the holster.

"Quantico," Gibbs replied. "Dead body found on base."

"Is this usual?" Agent Gracy asked Officer David as they headed for the elevators. "Two dead bodies in two days?"

Ziva shrugged. "When it rains, it hails," she said enigmatically. Gracy frowned.

"I think you mean, when it rains, it pours."

"That is a redundant statement, no?" Ziva asked with a frown. Sonja sighed, not knowing how to explain. As the elevator stopped in the garage, she was saved the trouble of the explanation by Gibbs.

"Gracy," he commanded, standing by the driver's side door. "This time, when I _tell_ you to do a job, you _do_ it! Understood?"

Her face flushed, the sprinkling of freckles over her cheeks standing out. "Understood, Agent Gibbs," she ground out through gritted teeth. They didn't speak again until they arrived at Quantico.

* * *

"Ziva, photos. DiNozzo, bag and tag." Agent Gibbs paused and fixed Agent Gracy with a cold look. "Gracy, sketches. And this time, don't get distracted by the dead guy in the middle of our crime scene." She rolled her eyes and moved to brush past him. His arm shot out, catching her elbow. "You may have been a medical examiner once, Gracy, but you're not anymore," he said, his voice low. She fixed him with a cold look.

"Believe me, I know that," she said, an icy tone to her voice. Gibbs opened his mouth to say something further. Gracy raised her free hand to stop him. "Don't go there, Gibbs." Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills before he released her arm, freeing her to continue to the crime scene, sketch pad and pencil in hand.

Not wanting to be distracted by the body and the tendencies of her former career, Gracy started with the outside of the crime scene, the sketching awkward with the brace she wore over her right wrist, the injury a combination of years of carpal tunnel syndrome and an evening of goofing around. After getting a reasonable diagram of the trees and rocks and other physical features of the scene, she hazarded a glance over at the body and almost dropped the sketchpad in surprise.

"Hey, DiNozzo," she called out to the NCIS agent, standing a few yards away, making a note on an evidence bag. "Do you mind if we switch jobs?" She held up her wrist and adopted an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid my sketching isn't quite up to par."

He gave her a wide grin. "Where'd that come from?"

"The brace? The orthopedics department at Walter Reed. Or did you mean the injury?" She gave a slightly teasing smile. "I guess things got a little out of hand last night."

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled softly. "Sure," he replied, handing over the pile of bags and the camera. "You familiar with the forms?"

She looked them over and nodded. "Yeah, they're pretty much the same as the ones at CID. Here's the sketchpad. I've done the periphery, but it's just really awkward with this thing, and I didn't want to mess up on the details."

"I've done the area around the body and had been working my way out," DiNozzo explained. "Just remember to take a picture before you pick anything up."

"I'm not a probie, remember?" she replied. "Thanks." He nodded and took the sketchpad to where she left off.

As expected, Dr. Donald Mallard and Jimmy Palmer didn't show up until about half an hour after the team began their tasks. "What have we got here?" Ducky asked as Jimmy struggled with the gurney.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Gibbs replied, "seeing as that's your job."

"Well, yes, Jethro, but you don't usually pack an extra medical examiner with you."

Gibbs frowned. "She's a CID special agent, Ducky, not another assistant for you. She already has a job to do."

"I do apologize, Jethro. Sometimes, old patterns are hard to break." He headed over toward the body, stopping in his tracks as he realized what he was looking at. "Oh, my," he murmured. The man, likely a Marine judging by the high and tight hair cut and sculpted physique, was clad only in boxer shorts, but that wasn't what got Ducky's attention. His exposed skin was covered in small cuts, likely over a hundred lacerations in seemingly random places over his legs, abdomen, torso, arms, and even his face. "Has Agent Gracy seen the body?" he asked softly, not wanting to attract the attention of the others.

"She better not have," Gibbs replied. "I reminded her that she's not a medical examiner anymore."

"Good," Ducky said forcefully. He took a deep breath as he turned back to look at the body. "You should probably keep her from seeing him."

"Is there a reason why, Ducky?" Gibbs asked with a frown. Dr. Mallard turned back to face the supervisory agent.

"I told you that Sonja Gracy extensively studied bladework; specifically, what a blade can do to human flesh," he began. He glanced over at the body again. "What I didn't tell you about the autopsy Agent Gracy did on her husband was that her husband's assailants seemed to have that expertise in mind. During the time he was held, he suffered from over one hundred lacerations at the hands of his torturers. At least on the outside, Jethro, this young man looks just like Major Scott Gracy."


	10. Chapter 10

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 10**

* * *

For the first time since she joined the team, Agent Sonja Gracy wasn't waiting in the bullpen when Agent Tony DiNozzo arrived for work, a good ten minutes later than he should have. "Gracy around?" he asked Officer Ziva David, already at her desk and hanging up the phone.

"I have not seen her today," she replied, not meeting his gaze as her attention switched to the computer screen. DiNozzo groaned.

"You killed her and stuffed her body in the dumpster out back, didn't you?" he asked in mock exasperation. "This reminds me of _The Avengers_, TV show from 1961-1969. Emma Peel, played by Diana Rigg—"

"Shut up, Tony," Ziva interrupted. "I have not seen Agent Gracy, and I did not kill her or stuff her in a dumpster. Maybe she is just late."

"Or maybe Gibbs sent her back to CID," DiNozzo said thoughtfully. "He did seem rather upset—." He stopped talking abruptly as a harried looking Gracy stepped out of the elevator, her still-damp hair in a quick French braid, her bag slung over her shoulder. "Hair dryer not working this morning, Agent Gracy?" he asked with a slight smirk.

She glowered briefly at him. "It was just one of those mornings," she replied shortly, sliding her CAC into the computer to log in. "I went on my usual morning swim—"

"What've you got?" Agent Gibbs asked as he strode into the bullpen, not a minute after Gracy. Ziva was the first to speak up.

"Abby has identified the victim as Captain Spencer Hawke. He was a Marine Intelligence officer stationed at Quantico. I left his a message with his CO's secretary to call me as soon as he gets in."

"No prior record," DiNozzo jumped in. "One speeding ticket from five months ago, two days after he got back from Iraq, but other than that, our vic was clean. Everyone seemed to like the guy, nobody can think of anybody who would want him dead."

"Maybe it was something from work. Any idea what he was working on?" Gibbs asked.

"I was planning on asking his CO when he called back," Ziva stated.

"Calypso," Gracy said quietly, getting the attention of the other three agents. She looked up in surprise, unaware she had spoken aloud. "At least, that's what he was working on fifteen months ago in Iraq."

"And that is?" Gibbs asked. She shook her head slightly, as if trying to focus her thoughts.

"It was a tri-service intelligence operation and it had to do with computers or satellites or something. That's all I know. I wasn't privy to details."

"You knew Captain Hawke?" Tony asked in surprise. She shook her head again.

"No, not really," she admitted. "I've heard his name a couple of times, that's about it." She frowned, trying to remember, hearing snippets of conversations in her head.

_"They treating you alright over there?" she asked with a laugh._

_"You kidding?" he scoffed. She could hear the grin in his voice through the phone. "I get three squares a day, sleep in an air-conditioned trailer with someone who doesn't snore—"_

_"I don't snore!"_

_"I know, I'm just messing with you," he replied, that teasing tone she loved in his voice. "We got a new kid in the unit the other day, a Marine captain fresh out of Intelligence training."_

_"Kid?" she echoed with a laugh. "You're a thirty-two year old major. You're not exactly ancient."_

_"Yeah, well, Hawke's a kid. A little bit green, and I'm not referring to the color of his uniform. He does know his way around the computer programs, though."_

"He joined Calypso about sixteen months ago," she said, trying to keep the pain of the memory from her voice. "He, um, hadn't been with Intelligence long. Some of the other guys liked to mess with him, you know, standard hazing stuff. I have no idea what he's been up to for the last year. I don't even know if he's still with Calypso."

The other agents were still staring at her in shock. "_How_ did you know that?" DiNozzo asked in wonder. Gibbs smacked the younger agent in the back of the head.

"Work smarter, not harder, DiNozzo. She showed up late and got all that. You checked his criminal record." He smirked slightly. "Not bad, Gracy. Ziva, when you talk to Hawke's CO, find out what he's been working on since getting back from Iraq. DiNozzo, keep working on Hawke's personal life, track down everyone who knew him. If anyone even thought about killing him, I want to know about it. Gracy, my office."

She frowned as the supervisory agent headed toward the elevator. "His office?" she asked the remaining agents.

"Better hurry," Tony replied. "Don't the elevator doors close." Still confused, she nonetheless jumped up and followed her new boss into the elevator.

Almost as soon as the doors closed behind Gracy, Gibbs hit the emergency stop. "What the hell?" she asked angrily. He turned toward her and didn't respond.

"I need to know everything you know about Calypso," he finally said. She blinked in surprise before shaking her head.

"The extent of my knowledge is pretty much everything I just said in there. Like I said, I wasn't privy to details."

"You knew some of the personnel," he pointed out. She took a deep breath and looked away, shaking her head slightly, more in disbelief at the topic of conversation than denial. "Where did Major Scott Gracy fit in?" Gibbs pressed.

Her eyes flew open, her expression filled with surprise as she turned back to face him. "How did—?" She cut herself off when she remembered that as a trained investigator, the first thing Gibbs would have done would be to check her service record. "Colonel Lars Hauser was the CO," she said softly. "Scott was the XO. It was a really good posting for him: an O-5 posting a couple of years after he made O-4, the type of thing that leads to a promotion below the zone." She bit her lower lip, her gaze focused up toward the ceiling of the elevator, trying to hold back tears. "As XO, he, uh, spent a lot of time on base, but he still went outside the wire with the men when he felt he needed to. I used to tease him about it." Her voice caught, and she had to swallow back the lump in her throat. "I reminded him that he's not a kid anymore, but I knew that's what he loved. He was a computer engineering major at Texas A&M, but he didn't go into the Army to sit behind a desk."

He gave her a moment to compose herself. "Do you think Captain Hawke's death could have had something with Calypso?"

"I don't know," she said honestly, shaking her head again. "Like I said, I don't know enough about Calypso. I don't know what they were working on. I always assumed that Scott's death was an Iraq thing, caught by the wrong insurgent or something, and that that would be the end of it, but," she paused. "I saw the body. Captain Hawke's body. I didn't examine it, I just saw it while I was working the scene. He had these cuts all of his body, which was just like Scott, and since, I can't help but remember—." She broke off suddenly, shaking her head. "What if Scott's death _wasn't_ just an Iraq thing?" she asked, meeting Gibbs' eye.

Gibbs reached over and flipped the elevator switch, turning it back on. "Find out everything you can about Calypso," he finally said as the doors opened on their floor. "I want to know everyone who was even remotely involved with the project and what they were working on."

"It's not going to be easy," she warned him. She saw the look on his face and nodded. "Right. On it."


	11. Chapter 11

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 11**

* * *

"Mr. Palmer," Ducky said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the Autopsy suite, "that article you read the other day—"

"Article, Dr. Mallard?" Palmer asked. Ducky glanced up from the body of Captain Spencer Hawke and sighed.

"Dr. Sonja Gracy's article on laceration measurements and suspect identification," he replied impatiently. "Do not act naïve, Mr. Palmer. I know that you read it. What do these lacerations tell you about our assailant?"

"Um, based on the depth and length of the lacerations, and lack of hesitation marks, statistically they fall in the range of a male between the ages of fifteen and fifty," Palmer said hesitantly.

"Very good, Mr. Palmer. Now, what are the limitations of the study?"

"The limitations?"

"You did read the discussion section of the paper, didn't you?" he sighed in exasperation. "Those numbers are based on averages of known attacks with convicted assailants. Now, as we have seen many times since you've begun your work here, there are always outliers."

"Outliers?"

Ducky sighed again. "If you stabbed a man, and Ziva stabbed a man, how would you compare the lacerations? Statistically, a woman in her early thirties should be more hesitant—"

"But Ziva's not the _average_ woman in her early thirties," Palmer finished with a satisfied grin. "I get it."

"Very good," Ducky replied absently, already distracted by his next thought. "This isn't right."

"What's not right, Dr. Mallard?" he grinned, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that it wasn't appropriate to do so. "Doesn't this remind you of something?"

"Nothing pleasant, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said grimly. "But it's not quite right. I need you to get another article for me. Two or three years ago, Dr. Gracy published an article in _The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology_ on the methods of analyzing lacerations."

Palmer frowned. "Is there something wrong, Doctor?"

Ducky looked up at him grimly. "I think someone is using Captain Hawke here to send us a message."

* * *

Dr. Donald Mallard stepped off the elevator and toward the bullpen, still in his scrubs from Captain Hawke's autopsy. "Ducky," Agent Gibbs said, sounding somewhat surprised. "I didn't expect to see you up here."

"Yes, well, I'm calling for a consult," he replied, turning toward Agent Gracy with an almost guilty look on his face. She looked up to meet his gaze and froze.

"No," she said stiffly. "I don't do consults."

"Sonja—"

"No," she repeated, more forcefully. "I don't do consults, I don't do autopsies. I don't even read pathology journals any more. I am a CID special agent—"

"Agent Gracy," Gibbs interrupted. "Go."

Her head whipped around to face him, her thick braid flying. "I'm not going down there," she said insistently. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes not leaving hers.

"Yes, you are," he said after a pause. "Go."

She stood stiffly, walking around her desk and stopping in front of his. She silently unclipped her CID shield from her belt and slammed it on Gibbs' desk. "I'm not going down there," she repeated, her light brown eyes blazing. "I will leave this team, this liaison position, and CID before I go down there."

He slowly stood, still not breaking eye contact. He reached for the shield and picked it up, and taking her wrist in his hand, pressed it into her palm. "You're not leaving CID," he said.

"Oh, I'm not?" she mocked.

"No, you're not," he repeated. "You're not leaving CID, because you have a photocopy of a confidential CID file in top drawer of your desk, and you're not going anywhere until that case is solved. Get down to autopsy."

She glared at him, but snatched her hand away, CID shield and all. "You're a bastard," she hissed. She stalked off toward the elevators without a glance back.

"Been called worse," Gibbs said calmly, taking another sip of coffee. Eyes wide at the exchange, Ziva turned to face Tony, who had a similar look on his face.

"What was that about?" she asked in wonder.

"I wish I knew."


	12. Chapter 12

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 12**

* * *

Sonja Gracy took a deep breath as she stood just outside the doors to Autopsy, willing her feet to carry her forward through those doors and into the cold, stainless environment just beyond. Ducky had found her a pair of scrubs that fit her tall, athletic frame—they were actually Palmer's—and someone had even dug up a pair of old tennis shoes from someplace she didn't want to contemplate, so her usual sensible-yet-stylish shoes—the shoes that cost enough to make the part of her that remembered being a married medical student making forty thousand a year between two people wince—wouldn't be damaged by whatever happened inside that Autopsy suite.

"Are you coming, Dr. Gracy?" Jimmy Palmer asked, sticking his head out from inside.

"I'm still thinking about it," she admitted. With a sigh of resignation, she followed him in.

It was exactly like it had been a couple of days before, when she burst through those doors to examine Officer Chase's body, and exactly like every Autopsy suite she had ever been in. Some were larger than others, some better—although never well—lit, some had soft music playing in the background, but they were all the same. There were only so many ways to decorate a room that was required to have stainless steel tables and refrigerated body drawers. Yet somehow, now, knowing what she was going to be doing and what she was going to be looking at, it was different. "Ducky," she finally called out, forcing herself into the moment.

"Ah, yes, Sonja. Right this way, please." She followed the older pathologist with her eyes, but didn't move her feet as he headed toward the one body out, the sterile white light leaving him on display for the world to see. In her mind's eye, it wasn't a cold Autopsy suite she saw, but a warm dining room complete with landscapes of the Florida coast; the table under the body wasn't stainless steel, but a deep red cherry that Scott insisted on splurging on after his promotion to captain; and instead of Jimmy Palmer watching with curiosity in his eyes, it was a dark man with a thick beard and a six-cylinder revolver held to her daughter's head.

_"Who are you?" she demanded angrily after getting over the shock of seeing an unfamiliar man standing just inside the entry way to her Alexandria townhouse. He gave an enigmatic smile in reply._

_"We have a surprise for you," he replied, his accent thick and not quite familiar._

_"How did you get in?" she asked, still not moving, wishing she had had some reason to take her issue 9mm to work every day, instead of leaving it in the gunsafe by her bed._

_"Do not worry about that now," he replied, his smile cold. "You have other things to worry about. Like what will happen to your beautiful daughter if you do not cooperate. Come. Follow me." Not even giving her time to shrug out of her winter coat or pull off the tan combat boots, he grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her through the kitchen toward the dining room, her black beret fluttering to the ground as she released it out of shock at the motion._

_She barely stifled a scream at the sight of her husband of ten years lying on their dining room table, his skin all but shredded from the force of what appeared to be countless cuts. "_Du meine Güte_," she breathed, her clinically trained mind instantly taking over to protect her from the horrors of what she was seeing. Some of the cuts were more erythematous than others, telling her that it wasn't all done at once, that somebody had taken their time—maybe days, maybe longer—on making him look like that. Since his last phone call, to tell her he was going outside the wire and didn't know when he would be back, had been fifteen days ago, she had an upper limit on when they had begun. _

_The click of a revolver forced the clinical part of her back to where she left it as she walked out of the office earlier that evening. She reluctantly tore her eyes away from Scott's body to see that man standing behind Maddie, a silver gun pointed at her head. The five-year-old's blue eyes, so similar to her father's, were filled with tears. _

_"Do what we tell you, Dr. Gracy—or is it Major Gracy?—and nobody will get hurt," the man said, his voice almost venomous._

_"What do you want me to do?" she asked shakily, internally swearing at the Army for training her to be a doctor more than they trained her to be a soldier. The man gestured toward the body on the table with his free hand._

_"Nothing more than you do every day, Doctor. An autopsy."_

"I'm having some difficulties analyzing these lacerations." The Scottish accent of NCIS's medical examiner brought Gracy back to the moment, away from that cold November night. "I attempted to use the protocol outlined in your paper—Sonja?" He turned to see her still standing just inside the doors to Autopsy, her eyes fixed on the body of Captain Hawke, a look of horror on her face.

"I need a punch biopsy, a scalpel, and fixative," Gracy said, snapping herself out of her reverie before giving Ducky the chance to voice any concern. She strode over to the body with that same military bearing ten years in the Army drilled into her.

As Palmer rushed off to get her what she requested, she quickly donned an autopsy apron, booties, gloves, and a facemask. She leaned over the body, a frown of concentration barely seen through the glare on the plastic cover. "Here you go, ma'am," Palmer said, sounding almost out of breath as he handed her what she requested. She nodded her thanks, pulling the biopsy probe from its sterile cover and attaching the scalpel blade.

With one deft motion, she punched a hole through a laceration near the ankle, slicing it cleanly away from the remaining skin with the scalpel. She examined the small circle for a second before dropping it in the fixative. "Mr. Palmer, do you prepare slides?"

"Uh, yes, Doctor. Uh, Agent. Uh—"

"I need transverse and longitudinal sections," she said, interrupting his stammering. "Make sure the transverse includes the laceration, and the longitudinal should be right alongside it. If you can, put both on the same slide. I'm also going to need slides from a lac on the bottom of the foot, the thigh, torso, wrist, the palm of the hand, and the face," she continued. Not waiting for a reply, she set aside the instruments and picked up a clear plastic ruler, measuring random cuts with a frown on her face.

She continued to work in silence as Palmer scurried around the body, preparing the biopsies and slides she requested. Ducky watched curiously, occasionally opening his mouth to ask a question before closing it again without saying anything.

"These aren't the same," she finally said, looking up at the senior medical examiner. "I mean, they _are_ the same, which means _this_ isn't the same." She shook her head slightly. "I don't even need to look at those slides. I mean, I _will_, because that's why I'm here, but I know that this isn't the same."

"Maybe you should start at the beginning, my dear," Ducky said gently. She nodded her head and reached for the handlens.

"All of these lacerations show similar levels of erythema," she pointed out, indicating the red skin around each cut. "That indicates that they were made roughly the same time, maybe an hour or two before death. He started at the bottom of the feet and worked his way up to the face. It's different."

"Different than what?" Palmer asked from the doorway, a slide tray in hand. Both Gracy and Ducky turned to face him briefly. Neither responded.

Sonja stared down at the body for a long moment before she spoke again. "I need to see the file," she said softly.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Ducky asked gently.

"No!" she exclaimed, startling everyone with her outburst. "No, I'm not damned sure if that's a good idea, but you called for a consult, and that's what your _consult_ says needs done." She paused. "And it's not like it's nothing I haven't seen before. For Christ's sake, Ducky, I _wrote_ the damned thing!"

"Sonja—"

"Twenty hours, Ducky!" she shouted, her voice hysterical, the sound drowning out the ding of the elevator doors opening. "I spent _twenty hours_ on that autopsy, seven of which were on the gross examination, listening to Maddie's sobs as some bastard held a gun to her head and made her watch her _mother_ cut up her _father_. I spent _four hours_ on the external examination alone, marking every single one of one hundred and seventeen lacerations, taking biopsies of one hundred and seventeen lacerations. When I close my eyes, I can still see each one of those, can see exactly how much edema, how much erythema surrounds each cut, can see exactly what those bastards spent over a week doing to my _husband_. So when I say I need to see the autopsy file of Major Scott Jaser Gracy, I'm not saying it because I want a pleasant stroll down memory lane. It's because I need to see the damned file!"

Wordlessly, Ducky handed her the thick folder that had been sitting on his desk since that morning. She frantically flipped through the opening pages, not even trying to hold back her tears, now falling silently down her cheeks. "Come on, come on!" she urged the pages, as if it were their fault she couldn't find what she was looking for. "The diagram sheet, Ducky! Where is the _verdammt_ diagram sheet?"

"Calm down," a level voice said, steady hands covering hers. She looked up from the file to a pair of reassuring blue eyes.

"I need the diagram sheet," she said, her voice small. "I—I can't find it."

As if knowing where it would be, Gibbs guided her hands back to the front of the file, where the offending paper rested. "This?"

She nodded slowly, pulling the sheet from the folder. Her eyes went from paper to body several times, her hands shaking slightly. "They're the same," she breathed. "How are they the same? Every cut, every angle—." She cut herself off, looking up at Gibbs with an expression of panic. "They're copying Scott. They want us to know—_Scheisse!_" In a fit of blind fury, she knocked the file to the ground and ran from the room.


	13. Chapter 13

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 13**

* * *

"Yes, thank you, Colonel," Officer Ziva David said into the phone before setting it in its cradle. She glanced up at Tony DiNozzo, the only other occupant of the bullpen at the moment. "That was Lt. Colonel Jordan Davis, Captain Hawke's CO," she explained. "He was a specialist in GEOINT, which is—"

"Geospatial Intelligence," DiNozzo interrupted. "I know what it stands for, Ziva."

"Specifically, imagery intelligence," she continued, ignoring him. "Intelligence gathering from satellite imagery. He has been working in the satellite division at Quantico since his return from Iraq five months. According to Colonel Davis, he was not working on anything in particular, but rather serving as an advisor for enlisted Intelligence personnel."

"Did you ask about Calypso?"

She rolled her eyes; after the way Gracy had attracted everyone's attention with her statements about the intelligence group, it had been on the forefront of Ziva's mind. "No, Tony, I must have forgot," she said sarcastically. "Colonel Davis knew of Captain Hawke's history with the group, but did not know much more than that. Apparently, the commanding officers of Calypso were—or are, I am not sure which—Army, and not many Marine Intelligence officers were involved. It was not Colonel Davis' primary concern."

DiNozzo frowned as he leaned back in his chair, absently tossing a wad of paper in the air and catching it as he thought about what Ziva had found out. "This can't be a coincidence, can it?" he finally asked, looking over at her. "We get a new liaison agent who just happens to know about a secret intelligence-gathering group in Iraq the day before an officer who worked with them is killed?"

"You know what Gibbs says about coincidence," Ziva pointed out.

"Yeah, there's no such thing," he said thoughtfully. Their eyes met over the desktops. "We need to find out about Calypso."

She nodded, rising from her chair as he straightened in his, starting a new search on his computer. He was momentarily distracted by the scent of her hair over his shoulder and the feel of her warm breath on his neck, but forced himself to focus on the task at hand. "Calypso was run out of the United States Army Intelligence and Security Command at Ft. Belvoir," he began. "It was organized in June 2006, and deployed to Iraq in early 2007. Commanding officer is Army Colonel Lars Hauser, executive officer is Lt. Colonel Lindsay Shaw." He frowned. "Colonel Hauser has been in his position since the project's inception, but Colonel Shaw didn't join the project until about a year ago, January 2008."

Ziva frowned. "That is not so unusual, yes? Military personnel are restationed and reassigned frequently."

"That's true," he admitted. "But just for fun, let's check to see who Shaw took over for. Maybe somebody lost their job and is out for revenge."

"Tony, that only happens in your movies," Ziva said tiredly. He waved her off dismissively and clicked through the directory ineffectually for a few minutes before Ziva sighed in frustration. "McGee would have the information already," she snapped at him.

"Yeah, well, McGee decided to act more like a famous novelist than a federal agent, and flew up to Quebec to go skiing and broke his leg," he snapped back. "Ah-ha!" His grin faded as he read the name displayed on his screen. "Major Scott Gracy," he read slowly. "Killed in action in Iraq, November 2007."

Their eyes met, both thinking the same thing. "Did you know she was married?" Ziva vocalized.

"Widowed, you mean?" Tony asked sarcastically. He shook his head. "No clue. Maybe that's why she stopped doctoring and joined CID. And Gibbs mentioned something about a confidential CID file..." his voice trailed off as he thought about the implications of a CID special agent investigating her own husband's murder. In a way, it was strangely reminiscent of Gibbs, after Shannon and Kelly had been killed. Of course, finding out what Gibbs had done had taken some computer hacking skills no one at NCIS was aware DiNozzo had-including DiNozzo. He had surprised himself that day...

Feeling the need to return to the subject after Tony had gone silent, Ziva spoke again. "Two men on the same project, both killed," she stated.

"You know what Gibbs says about coincidence," he said, echoing her earlier words.

"We need to find out about Calypso," she concluded. He nodded his agreement and turned back to the computer.

It was obvious in seconds that Tony didn't have the clearance for whatever information was within those files, as the large red 'ACCESS DENIED' message appeared. "You know what this means, don't you?" he asked Ziva. A slow smile appeared on her face as she processed his words.

"Subbasement," they said in unison.

* * *

Grabbing her shoulders, Agent Gibbs guided the still-hysterical Agent Gracy into the elevator before slamming on the emergency stop. In her state, she probably didn't know where she was or who she was with; all the more reason why he needed to be there.

She was clutching onto him as if her life depended on it, sobbing into his shoulder and clutching his shirt desperately while muttering something in what sounded like German. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and rubbing her back in what he hoped was a comforting motion. Being only an inch or two shorter than him, it wasn't the most natural position to be in, but she didn't seem to mind. He doubted she noticed.

Neither knew how long they had been standing there when her sobs abated and she slowly pulled away from him. "_Danke,_" she said softly. "_Ich bin traurig—_"

"I don't speak German, Sonja," he replied. She nodded, pulling off the latex gloves she still wore before wiping at her eyes, bringing them up meet his. Red-rimmed and puffy from her sobs, he could nonetheless see the strength in those light-brown orbs that she was struggling to hold onto.

"I'm sorry," she managed. "I don't usually…break down like that. I'm sorry."

"You're allowed," was all he said, a comforting hand on her shoulder. She nodded again and drew in a shaky breath.

"Scott and I met halfway through our junior year at Texas A&M," she began. Knowing it had little to do with the case, Gibbs really didn't care, but he sensed she needed to say it. "He was in the triathlon club and in the Corps of Cadets—Army ROTC—and those two schedules didn't always line up. He missed a couple of days of swim practice for triathlon because of formations, so he showed up at the pool during swim team practice asking for a lane. It was close to the conference meet, and I was a little on edge… Well, let's just say that I was little bit more upset about that than I should have been. In fact, when he came back a couple of days later, while I was working as a lifeguard, I kicked him out of the pool." She rolled her eyes, a small, remembering smile on her face. "Yeah, I was a bit of a bitch. But Scott Gracy is nothing if not determined, and practically the next thing I knew, I was looking into med schools in the DC area and applying for an Army scholarship."

She shook her head slightly, eyes fixed on some point in time and space distant from the elevator. "I had a direct commission after I was accepted into Georgetown, but he had to wait until graduation to get his butter bars, so I made lieutenant first. I rubbed that in until he beat me to captain, and he had outranked me ever since, but neither of us cared. We had one of those picture-perfect marriages that don't really exist in real life—you know, the two kids, place in the suburbs, the whole bit. In ten years of marriage, the largest fight we had was about the dining room set." She bit her lower lip, her eyes filling with new tears. "The dining room set I had to get rid of because neither I nor my daughter could look at it without thinking about his body lying on it."

"What about his work?" Gibbs asked gently. She shook her head.

"We didn't talk about work much," she admitted. "He _couldn't_ say much, and was grossed out by the thoughts of autopsies and tissue samples, so I _didn't_ say much." Gracy took a deep breath. "But I can tell you that September 11 was not a good turning point for our professional lives, and it made our personal lives a little bit more difficult as well. I was an intern and pregnant with Maddie, and I'm sure you can imagine what that day was like for Intelligence officers. He left for a tour in Afghanistan in early 2002, came back six months later and was reassigned to INSCOM. He had various jobs there before he was given the XO slot with Calypso."

Gibbs opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. "Gibbs," he barked, not breaking eye contact with Gracy.

_"Yeah, Boss, where are you?"_

"Better question, DiNozzo—where are you?"

There was a pause on the other end. _"Subbasement, Boss. We've been looking into Calypso. I don't think Hawke was our first victim."_

"Major Scott Gracy was," Gibbs finished for him.

_"Uh, yeah, Boss. How did—"_

"We're on our way down," Gibbs interrupted before snapping the phone closed. "You okay?"

Gracy nodded, wiping already dry cheeks. "I'm pretty sure I look like hell, but yeah, I'm okay."

He smiled slightly as he started the elevator. "You don't look like hell."


	14. Chapter 14

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 14**

_A/N: Thank you for reviews! I like feedback. Keep them coming, and I'll keep the story coming :) Just kidding, I'll finish the story even if nobody says anything to me about it._

* * *

Agent Gibbs stepped off the elevator and turned into the Cyber Crimes unit of the subbasement, vaguely aware of the former Army pathologist trailing him. "What've you got?" he demanded, getting the attention of everyone in the room. The computer geeks all stopped in mid-type, their jaws hanging open and hands poised above the keyboards, in awe of the fact that they were in the presence of the entire Major Crimes Response Team, but Gibbs ignored them in favor of the three agents at the far console. McGee was at the computer, his broken leg propped up on an open drawer; Ziva was perched on the desk, cleaning her fingernails with her knife; and Tony was sitting backwards in a chair that, judging by the computer specialist standing a few feet away, he had taken from someone's desk.

"Oh, hey, Boss," DiNozzo said, half-turning in the chair. "We've been looking into Calypso. You're going to want to hear this."

"We, Tony?" McGee asked. DiNozzo smacked him the back of the head.

"You wouldn't have known to look if it weren't for us," he scolded the younger agent. "Ow!" he exclaimed as Gibbs, in turn, smacked him.

"The point, DiNozzo," he demanded.

"Right. So, Calypso is this top-secret satellite surveillance system—ooh, I like that—sorry, Boss. McHacking-The-Army's-Computer-System has the details about what exactly that means, but it's not that important."

"Hey!"

"Anyway, they were good. A month after Calypso went on-line in Iraq, the number of insurgents arrested tripled. I'm sure they managed to make themselves a few enemies in the process, but if anybody said anything to the complaint department, they must have forgotten to file them."

"Major Scott Gracy was the Executive Officer of the unit from their arrival in Iraq until he was captured and killed," Ziva said, ignoring Tony's comments to take over smoothly, leaning over McGee's computer to activate the plasma screen. Instantly, Major Scott Gracy's personnel file was displayed, complete with a picture of the major in his green class A uniform, black hair buzzed short, an almost cocky expression concealed entirely in dark blue eyes. "He was the logical choice for information. As the unit's XO—"

"He knew all the men in the unit, as well as all the information," Gracy interrupted, stepping into the room from where she had been standing, just outside the door. The agents turned to face her, taken slightly aback by the scrubs, red eyes, and haunted expression. "He wrote some of the software used, so he would have known how to hack into it and change what Calypso was looking at, making it as useful as a night-vision scope at noon or a spy satellite pointed at Antarctica. Oh, and he went out on missions with his men, and spoke Arabic with the accent of an upper-class Jordanian, because that's what his mother is." She gestured toward the personnel file on the screen. "I can tell you a lot more about him than that can," she said softly.

"He was tortured," Gibbs began. She nodded.

"For over a week," she replied, her voice still soft and distant. "He was beaten, he was tied up. He had ligature marks on his wrists, dislocated shoulders from his arms being held behind his back and over his head, water in his lungs from high-pressured hoses directed at his face, and one hundred seventeen cuts all over his body, which they spent the entire week giving him."

"He did not last long," Ziva commented. Gracy turned to face her, her eyes not quite focused.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "He didn't. They were too aggressive. He died of accelerated heart failure as a result of his injuries."

"Would he have talked?" Ziva pressed.

"Would you?" Gracy shot back. "I know Army Intelligence training isn't quite the same as Mossad's, but it wasn't a day at the park, either. He went through some pretty twisted stuff. He couldn't have resisted torture forever—nobody could—but he could hold out awhile."

"I do not have a family that can be threatened," Ziva replied. Dark brown eyes met lighter ones with a look akin to sympathy. "How long could he hold in against someone threatening you?"

"Hold _out_," Gracy corrected without thinking. "If they were threatening me, a while. It was something we talked about. I was an Army officer. I knew the risks of wearing the uniform. He knew that if it came between me and national security, the nation came first." She paused, her voice tight. "He didn't like it, but we both knew that that was the way it had to be. If they were threatening Maddie or Nate-." She shook her head, her voice lowering to a whisper. "He couldn't have done anything to jeopardize the kids."

"No father could," Gibbs commented. Gracy turned to face him, seeing something familiar in his eyes, something she had seen in herself. Turning to address the entire group, Gibbs continued, "We have to assume that our murderers got Hawke's name from Major Gracy, and we have to assume they have others. We need a complete list of everyone involved with Calypso and we need to know what they were working on." He turned to Gracy. It didn't take much to see the anguish in her eyes; he had, after all, essentially just accused her husband of giving away state secrets. Still, they had a job to do. He had to distract her from what he just said. "You know Colonel Hauser?"

She blinked to try to redirect her thoughts before nodding. "Very well. He worked with Scott for years."

"Good. We're going to Ft. Belvoir in the morning to talk with him. And let your bosses know what's going on. Since your husband was the original case, this is now a joint operation."

"It was already a joint operation, Gibbs," Gracy informed him. "CID and Intelligence. I believe now it would be a task force."

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes at the semantics. "Oh, and wear your uniform tomorrow."

"My uniform?" she asked with a frown. "What's the point? I already told you, I know Colonel Hauser. I've socialized with his family. He's seen me out of uniform."

"It's psychological, my dear," Ducky said from the doorway. "A subliminal message that you're one of them." He frowned slightly. "I came to apologize. I should not have involved you."

"You did what you had to," she said, her voice stiff. She turned away from him and back to Gibbs. "I'm not in the Army anymore. I don't even have rank."

"You maintained your rank equivalent when you joined CID, right?" She nodded. "Good. Go home. Spend some time with your kids. And we'll see you in uniform tomorrow, _Major_."

* * *

Gibbs reached over and picked up the receiver as his phone began ringing. "Gibbs," he said, sounding almost weary. Weary enough to give the voice on the other end pause.

_"I think I have something you want to see, Gibbs."_

He sighed. "I'll be right down, Abs," he replied, replacing the receiver as he rose from his desk.

In contrast to most of the rest of the building, the forensics lab at NCIS was still well-lit and filled with noise—in this case, the heavy metal blaring from Abby's sound system that she somehow managed to requisition—at 2030 in the evening. Approaching through her office, Gibbs stopped the music before stepping into the lab.

"What, no Caf-Pow?" Abby asked with a pout as Gibbs appeared in front of her.

"Abby," he replied wearily.

"Right," the forensics scientist replied. "So, about our dead guy. Captain Hawke. Ducky told me to tell you two things about him. First of all, he said that Hawke definitely wasn't tortured. Well, that is, aside from all these little cuts all over his body, which, if you ask me, couldn't have been all that comfortable. Sorry. Back to the point. Ducky also said something about the lacerations not looking quite right, especially the ones on his chest. It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about, because lacerations are lacerations, right? I mean, you can't mess up while cutting someone. Well, I guess you can—"

"Abby, it's already been a long day," Gibbs interrupted with a sigh.

"Sorry, Gibbs. Anyway, Ducky took a picture of Hawke's chest and sent it to me and I studied it for awhile before I realized what he was talking about." The picture of Captain Hawke's chest appeared on the plasma screen and Abby's monitor. "So, there are three types of laceration on his chest. Actually, two types of laceration and a stabbing. Ducky told me this was the fatal wound," she said, highlighting a deep stab wound in the middle of the left side of Hawke's chest. "His murderer stabbed him right in the heart. So that's not really relevant." Pressing a few keys on the keyboard, the wound disappeared. "That leaves us with the two types of cutting wounds—lacerations. Some of them are red around the edges, and the others aren't. The ones that are red are the ones he had while he was still alive, and when the other ones were made, he had been dead for a couple of hours already. So, I used a spectral subtraction technique—"

"I don't need the details, Abs."

"Okay. I took out all of the cuts that were made while he was still alive." A few more keystrokes, and the red lines disappeared, leaving Gibbs squinting as if at a Magic Eye image. "That leaves us with this. What does this look like to you?" She highlighted a pattern of cuts in the middle of Hawke's chest and enlarged it. Gibbs frowned before his eyes widened in recognition.

"That's an oak leaf," he said.

"Why would someone carve an oak leaf into our victim's chest?"

"It's a sign of rank," Gibbs explained. "Majors and lieutenant colonels in the Marines, Army, and Air Force; lieutenant commanders and commanders in the Navy."

"But Hawke was a captain, right? So he should have had those double bar things," Abby commented, confused about what one had to do with the other.

"Railroad tracks," he said absently, studying the image and shaking his head. "Marines don't wear their rank on the middle of the chest. Only soldiers do. This is an Army rank." He frowned. "Zoom out on the whole chest again. There," he said, pointing at the upper right of the image. "Those lines. What are they?"

"I'll have to clear up the image," Abby said, typing frantically into the computer. Little by little, the picture became clearer. "Does that say what I think it says?"

"'Gracy'," Gibbs read. He slammed his palm against the lab table in what was a rare show of anger around Abby. "This isn't about Hawke at all. They wanted to make sure we knew it was about Gracy." He frowned. "Now we just need to figure out _what_ it is about Gracy."


	15. Chapter 15

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 15**

_Thanks for your reviews! Keep them coming-it's good for my self-esteem :)_

* * *

Agent Tony DiNozzo glanced up at the dinging of the elevator and gave a low wolf-whistle, a wide grin on his face. "It's like _GI Jane_," he commented.

Agent Sonja Gracy rolled her eyes as she tossed her black beret on her desk. "I'm not Demi Moore," she said dryly, as if that weren't obvious. "I'm not shaving my head, and I won't be marrying any guys in their twenties when I'm over forty."

He grinned again, amazed at how different Gracy was in uniform. Her long hair was secured in a utilitarian bun at the nape of her neck, her already subdued make-up even more minimalistic, revealing more of the brown freckles over her nose and cheeks. The shapeless digital camouflage covered her long, lean frame, and he could see a few links of her dog tag chain around her neck. But more remarkable than her clothing was her attitude. Dressed in her Army Combat Uniform, she was more focused than she had been since she arrived at NCIS that Monday, her stride long and confident, her chin held high. There was little evidence of the broken, silently grieving widow who would smile politely at the people around her, her eyes never showing any mirth. Hell, it wasn't even until he saw her in uniform that he realized she _had_ been acting like a broken, silently grieving widow. "How are the kids?" he asked, somewhat awkwardly, trying to figure out how he had been working with her for the past few days without knowing that she had children, or had been married, or lost her husband to terrorists in Iraq.

She turned to him, a quizzical expression on her face. "Fine," she said slowly, as if trying to figure out why he was asking. He was spared any further embarrassment by the sudden appearance of Ziva and Gibbs in the bullpen.

"Morning, DiNozzo, Major," Gibbs greeted. Tony muttered something in reply. Sonja rolled her eyes at the greeting. "You ready to go to base?"

Gracy shrugged a shoulder. "Sure," she replied, feigning indifference. Although she was now stationed at Ft. Belvoir, the same base where they were headed, the same base where her husband worked before his last deployment, CID headquarters were nowhere near the INSCOM building, and the thought of returning there got her heart beating a little bit harder.

Instead of responding, Gibbs turned to face Gracy, standing less than a foot from her. Without saying anything, he adjusted her shoulder pocket, lining up the Velcro seams. "What are you doing?" she asked with a frown.

"I expected you to be in your class A uniform," he replied, doing the same to her other shoulder.

She pulled her arm away. "You said it's a subliminal message, to make them think I'm one of them," she said. "Everyone wears ACU these days. If I show up in my damned class As—which I'm not even sure still_ fit_—I'll stand out like a sore thumb."

He nodded slightly and turned to examine the front of her uniform. He reached out and fingered the two subdued black pins at her left collar bone, above the 'U.S. Army' tape. "Airborne and Expert Field Medical Badge," he said, an eyebrow cocked. "Those are impressive insignia."

"I did airborne training during medical school, and then during residency, I got bored and decided to train for the EFMB. I was hoping to trade it in for a Combat Medical Badge someday, but I left the Army before I got a chance to do that."

He nodded as if accepting the explanation, smirking inwardly at the thought. The Expert Field Medical Badge was only awarded after a battery of tests, including a written exam, land navigation course, weapon qualification, forced road march in hundred degree heat with weighted packs, and medical obstacle course, among other things. Army medical personnel had to act more like Marines than doctors to earn it. Less than ten percent of everyone who trained for it earned it; people don't go through that just because they're 'bored'.

He reached to adjust the rank insignia at the center of her chest, earning him a glare and a rather forceful slap of his hand to move it out of the way. "My uniform is squared away, Gunny," she snapped.

"Not quite," he said. "You're forgetting something." Without another word, he ripped the Velcro medical command unit patch from her left shoulder. "You're not a doctor anymore, remember?"

She frowned. "I didn't even think about," she admitted.

"I figured as much." He stepped over to his own desk and opened the top drawer. He pressed the CID patch to the newly freed shoulder, ensuring that it was perfectly centered. "_Now_ you're squared away. Let's go."

* * *

Gracy adjusted her beret before stepping out of the NCIS sedan, squinting into the winter sun and shivering slightly in the cold. Back when she was a pathologist with the Army, she used to sneak into her building in warm civilian clothing before changing into her scrubs. She had forgotten how poorly insulated the ACUs were, even in the long-sleeved undershirt she wore.

The unit secretary didn't leave them waiting long before waving them into Colonel Lars Hauser's office. "Sonja," the gray-haired colonel said in surprise as they entered.

"Colonel," she said formally before smiling. She stepped forward and gave him a quick hug.

"_Lange nicht gesehen_," he said as they separated.

"_Ja, stimmt_," she replied.

"You speak German, right?" DiNozzo leaned down and whispered to Ziva. She nodded.

"He said it has been too long, and she agreed," she whispered back. Listening for a few more seconds, she continued, "He has offered his sympathies and then she thanked him. Now he is asking about Madeline and Nathanael. Her children, yes?" DiNozzo nodded, having read Agent Gracy's personnel file the night before. "Apparently, 'Maddie' is improving and is still seeing a counselor. 'Nate' is in pre-school and is enjoying it." Gibbs' loud throat clearing interrupted not only Ziva's whispered translations, but the German conversation taking place in front of them.

"Sorry, Agent Gibbs," Gracy apologized. "Colonel Hauser and I are both first generations _Deutsche." _She turned back to the colonel. "Sir, Special Agents Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Anthony DiNozzo, and Officer Ziva David, from NCIS."

"What can I do for NCIS?" Hauser asked, addressing Gibbs, who handed over a picture of Captain Spencer Hawke.

"Captain Hawke was murdered at Quantico a few nights ago. We understand he worked for you on Calypso while he was deployed."

Hauser exhaled deeply as he all but collapsed into his chair. "Yeah. He was new to the project when he arrived in country. It was his first deployment and he was still learning the ropes when I left, but he was a good kid. Hard worker, never complained." He glanced over to Gracy before returning his attention to Gibbs. "Major Scott Gracy, my XO, brought him under his wing and showed him around, had his back. We were a bit of an unusual unit—our officer to enlisted ratio was closer to that of a medical unit than your typical intelligence one, so even though Hawke was a captain, he was still fairly junior. Scott made sure that none of the soldiers, sailors, or airmen had a problem taking orders from a young Marine officer." He shook his head slowly. "I still can't believe Scott's dead, and now Hawke?"

"Anyone have a reason to be taking out your officers?" Gibbs asked.

"You think they're related?" the colonel asked with a frowned. "But Scott was cap—," he cut himself off and glanced over at Agent Gracy. "Killed, in Iraq, and you said Hawke was killed at Quantico."

"Whoever killed Captain Hawke staged his body to look like Scott's," Gracy said softly. "They wanted to make sure there's no doubt that the two are related."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, before turning back to Gibbs. "So now you want to know about Calypso, right?"

"That would be nice."

"There's not much I'm cleared to tell," Hauser said, no apology in his voice. "We are a surveillance satellite system, that's about all I can tell you." He shook his head. "I never thought Scott's death had anything to do Calypso, and I said as much in my report. When he was captured, he was outside the wire, leading an Intelligence op that wasn't related to Calypso at all."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows at this. "You let your XO go out on unrelated missions?"

"Scott was a good officer," Hauser argued defensively. "He was a good leader, and he was a damned good intelligence analyst. He knew when something was critical. That mission was time-sensitive, and their usual Arabic expert had just broken his leg. If they waited for the replacement, they would have missed their window of opportunity."

Gracy frowned, attempting to cover it up when Gibbs glanced over at her. He guessed that wasn't the explanation she had been given. "And that wasn't related to Calypso at all?"

Hauser shook his head. "No. Calypso is entirely about gathering intel, not acting on it; we're not operations. I can't even see how the insurgents would know that it exists."

Gibbs nodded. His gut was telling him that Hauser was hiding something, but he wasn't sure what. "We'll keep in touch," he said as he rose from his chair. The other three agents followed his lead.

"Sonja," Hauser said, stopping the CID agent. He pulled a small manila envelope from his desk drawer. Her breath caught, recognizing the pouch from the countless identical ones she had received over the years. "These came the day he left on that mission. I was going to give them to you after we got back from Iraq, but…" His voice trailed off as he handed it over.

She understood what he wasn't saying, that he didn't come visit her because he didn't know what to say—her husband had died under his command. "_Danke_," she said softly as she poured the dog tags into her palm, allowing the cool metal chain to slide through her fingers.

"I know he's never worn them, and you probably have fifty sets of those around, but I thought you should have these."

Gracy smiled slightly as she rubbed her thumb over the punched letters. "Scott had a bad habit of losing these things," she said. "And the ones he didn't lose, he gave away as soon as he got a new set. I don't think I have any around the house." She looked up, a sad smile on her face. "Thank you, Lars."

The colonel smiled in reply and drew Gracy into a large embrace. "_Tut mir leid, dass das passieren musste_," he said softly into her ear.

Turning to face his partner as they left the office, Tony couldn't help but see Ziva frowning at Hauser's words.

* * *

_A/N: So I wrote this a couple of days ago while I was watching the episode "Corporal Punishment". I liked the part near the end, when Gibbs was adjusting the Marine's uniform. The thought of Gibbs around someone in an Army Combat Uniform, which is just about completely Velcro (really-I feel like a kindergarten bulletin board when I wear it) made me laugh, because the pockets and patches always manage to get themselves crooked, so I just had to add a scene along that theme. Oh, and the rank patch really is in the center of the chest, which is somewhat awkward for us women. _


	16. Chapter 16

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 16**

_A/N: So, I'm back in the Eastern time zone, which means better posting times (Hawaii time was killing me). Unfortunately, it means I've gone from Hawaii back to the land of cold and snow. How sad for me. Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy!_

* * *

"Well, that was certainly painful," Special Agent Tony DiNozzo commented as he stepped off the elevator, turning a glare toward his partner.

"Do not blame me, Tony," Officer Ziva David shot back, just as annoyed. "It was Army Intelligence that held out that conference."

"Held _up_," DiNozzo said emphatically. "And, about that, what did you do in your past life with Mossad to piss them off so much?"

"Why do you assume that it was me who pissed them off, and not the other way around?"

"Um, because it was _them_ who stopped the task force meeting as soon as _you_ introduced yourself so they could check out _your_ dossier."

She smirked involuntarily at that. "And they did not find anything," she said confidently. He snorted in reply.

"Right. That's why they asked you to leave, and when you didn't, kept looking over at you before saying anything."

"Are you jealous, Tony?" she teased. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm just saying, the whole thing would have gone much smoother if they weren't questioning Mossad's presence every five minutes."

"The case involves terrorists in the Middle East. They should have assumed Mossad would be interested. They should have been grateful that we were making our interest known, in fact."

"You weren't making Mossad's interest known, you were just there because you're here," he pointed out. He frowned. "What does Mossad usually do when you're interested?"

She laughed as she turned away, returning to her desk. "You two done arguing about who pissed off Intelligence this time?" Special Agent Gibbs asked rhetorically, appearing from the elevator, Special Agent Sonja Gracy in tow. "I need you to recreate Major Gracy's deployment—every mission, every person talked to, everything."

"Which Major Gracy, Boss?" DiNozzo asked, glancing over at Agent Gracy. Gibbs reached over to hit him in the back of the head, hard.

"The one who's been deployed, DiNozzo." He turned and studied Gracy for a moment before speaking. "We can use your help on his background."

Knowing that he was asking if she could stay a couple of hours late, she nodded. "Just let me call the au pair and let her know," she said.

"'Au pair'?" Gibbs echoed. She rolled her eyes as she dialed the phone.

"It's French for 'highly overpaid live-in baby-sitter from Europe who was only hired because she speaks fluent German and doesn't smoke'. _Angelika,_ _hallo, hier Sonja_." She turned her back to the group as she spoke rapid-fire German, occasionally glaring into space at what the nanny was saying. "_Wertloses Mädchen_," she muttered as she hung up the phone. Ziva smiled slightly at the words. "Yeah, I can stay a bit," the CID agent said to Gibbs. He nodded in reply.

"Help them," he said, pointing at DiNozzo and David before heading up the stairs without explanation. Beginning to see how things worked around Gibbs, Gracy only looked confused for a second before giving the two remaining agents her full attention.

Gibbs had been gone for less than half an hour before the three younger agents heard his voice over the railing from the balcony. "It's gonna be a late night," he said. "I'm ordering Chinese. You want anything?"

"That sounds good, Boss," DiNozzo replied, perking up.

"I wasn't asking you, DiNozzo."

Gracy gave the NCIS agent a quick victorious grin before tilting her head toward the balcony. "I'm not picky. Just get me something spicy." Gibbs gave half a nod before disappearing again.

Another twenty minutes passed Gibbs reappeared again, this time from the elevators, with a bag of Chinese takeaway. "Conference room," he said as he headed toward the bullpen. Gracy frowned.

"The elevator?"

"No, that's the office," DiNozzo explained. "There actually is a conference room, upstairs." She nodded her understanding and jumped up. Gibbs watched her ascend the stairs toward the balcony, suddenly aware that she had removed her uniform blouse, leaving a long-sleeved sand-colored Under Armor shirt tight enough that he could see the outline of her dog tags, among other things. He quickly looked away before she could notice him staring.

"So what'd you bring me?" Gracy asked, rubbing her hands together in anticipation as she walked into the conference room. Gibbs wordlessly handed her a white carton of takeout food, which she opened as soon as she sat down. "Mm, kung pao shrimp, my favorite," she said with approval.

_"And for you, mi lady," he said with a flourish, dramatically handing her the already-leaking carton of takeout._

_"Ah, kung pao shrimp. Scott Gracy, you are my new favorite person."_

_He frowned in mock consternation. "And may I ask, Miss Herzlich, who your old favorite person was?"_

_"The last guy to bring me two dollar Chinese food from that sketchy place just off campus."_

"Can I have a fork?" she asked, staring into the open carton, trying not to think about Scott. Gibbs wordlessly handed her a package of chopsticks. "Huh. Not a fork. You do realize, Gibbs, that I was raised in southern Florida by German immigrants. I didn't exactly grow up using these things."

"Not too difficult," he replied. He watched her struggle with the wooden sticks for a moment before he said, "Might be easier if you lose the wrist brace."

She grumbled as she unfastened the Velcro brace, but it did little to help her technique. "Gibbs," she said, exasperated. He chuckled.

"You're holding them wrong. Here." He reached over to reposition the sticks, moving her fingers in the right motions. She started laughing at the situation, making him grin.

She cut herself off, her grin falling abruptly as she straightened in her chair. Knowing what she was thinking, Gibbs quietly said, "It's okay to be happy every once in awhile."

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on her food as she attempted to pick up another piece of shrimp. "I don't know how you did it," she finally said, her eyes lifting to meet his. "If I didn't have Maddie and Nate to look after…I don't want to think about what I would have done."

He didn't ask how she knew about his past, nor did he tell her that he did know what she would have done. He had read about how her service pistol had been taken from her possession, just as he had seen the lengthy psych evaluation before CID issued her a new one after she completed her initial training as a special agent. "It was close," he finally said. He had never said this to anyone, not even during the mandatory visits with the unit shrinks. "I don't know how many hours I was sitting on the beach thinking about it."

"Service pistol?"

"Yeah." She nodded slowly.

"Did you know that female physicians are more than sixteen times more likely to complete suicide than female non-physicians?" She didn't give him a chance to respond. "It's not that we're that much more likely to _attempt_ suicide, it's just that we know how to do it. Most women try pills, but that's not the way to go. Beretta M9, right to the temple." She held her fingers to the side of head, as if holding a gun. She shook her head. "If your psychiatrists were half as annoying as mine, they gave you all sorts of crap about letting yourself grieve and honoring their memories."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "All the time."

She nodded again. "Never really had much time for that," she said, almost off-handedly. "Never really had much time for anything. I had a three-year-old and traumatized five-year-old to look after. I kept—_keep_—replaying it in my mind. Scott's body over there," she said, gesturing vaguely. "Maddie sobbing over there, a revolver to her head. The last thing I wanted to do was make her watch while I dissected her father. Hell, the last thing I wanted to do was that autopsy under any circumstance, but then I heard that _click_ of the hammer…" Her voice trailed off. "I would do anything to keep my kids safe. Anything."

"Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if Kelly hadn't died," Gibbs heard himself saying. Again, this was something he had never before vocalized. "And then I'd realize I hadn't wondered the same thing about Shannon, as if it were a given that she'd die that day. And I feel guilty, like I cared more about my daughter than my wife."

She nodded her understanding, and Gibbs knew that she _did_ understand, the way that only somebody who had lost a spouse, and almost a daughter, could. "Evolution dictates that we will always do more to protect our offspring than our mates. It's a constant throughout nature. We are here, on this planet, for continuation of the species." She shook her head slightly, an almost amused expression on her face. "Knowing the biological imperative doesn't make that knowledge any easier. If Scott had still been alive that night, if those terrorists had held guns to both of their heads and made me chose, I would save Maddie every time, and I hate myself for thinking that, but Scott was an Army officer, and Maddie's a kid—_my_ kid, and Scott's kid. He knew the risks, she didn't." She absently stirred her food with her chopsticks. "But believe me, that fact doesn't give any solace."

He nodded, knowing she was speaking the truth. "Time helps," he finally said.

"How much time?" she asked, her head tilted slightly to the side with the question. "How long will it be before everything reminds me of him, before every time I think of Scott, I see him lying on my dining room table? How much longer will it be before I get to see my daughter smile again?"

"A while," he admitted. They were both silent for several minutes, trying desperately to put the conversation behind them. "Ducky says you had a promising career in front of you," he finally said.

"Yeah, I did," she replied. Her voice carried no hint of bragging, just confirming the truth. "But it's hard to continue to perform autopsies when I can't touch a scalpel without hearing Maddie sobbing."

"We'll get these guys, Sonja." She glanced up at him and met his gaze, seeing the honest determination in those blue eyes before nodding slowly.

"I know."


	17. Chapter 17

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 17**

* * *

Tony DiNozzo glanced over at the desk to his right as he stored his Sig. "You know, I had nannies growing up," he began.

"If you're implying that my children will turn out like you, DiNozzo, I'm quitting now to become a stay at home mother," Agent Sonja Gracy replied, not glancing up from the file she was studying. Officer Ziva David chuckled at her partner's expense.

"There was this one I remember, Brunhilda," DiNozzo continued as if he hadn't heard Gracy. "That wasn't her real name, of course, but that's what I called her. Well, what I called her behind her back, because there was no way—"

"How scary could she have been, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked as he appeared out of nowhere.

"Not nearly as scary as you, Boss," the field agent said quickly. Gracy ducked her head toward the desk, covering the beginnings of a smile.

"That's the way it should be," Gibbs declared. "What've you got?"

"Abby confirmed Sonja's analysis of Hawke's lacerations. They were made by a standard K-Bar, could be purchased online or any knife store," DiNozzo informed him.

"Consistent with Scott's wounds," Gracy added.

"What about the crime scene?"

"Two sets of footprints," Ziva jumped in. "Neither is Captain Hawke's size, but both are consistent with standard Marine combat boots."

"Not exactly helpful on a Marine base," DiNozzo commented.

"No," David agreed. "Whoever did this knows to blend in."

Gibbs opened his mouth to comment, but his phone rang, distracting him. "Gibbs," he barked into it. After listening for a minute, he declared, "We're on our way." Knowing what that meant, DiNozzo and David were already on their feet, getting ready to head out. "Grab your gear," Gibbs said. "That was Norfolk NCIS. They have a body that fits the pattern."

"ID?" Gracy asked as she slid her Sig into her holster.

"Not yet," Gibbs replied. "The Norfolk team took one look at the body and called us. All we know is that the victim is male with multiple lacerations."

"Well, that certainly fits the profile," DiNozzo commented as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

Special Agent Sonja Gracy pulled her NCIS windbreaker tightly to her chest, attempting to ward off the chill that she knew had nothing to do with the cold. As if detached from the crime scene, she observed everything going on around her: Gibbs was talking to the supervisory agent of the Norfolk team, DiNozzo was playing around with the camera and earning annoyed glares from Ziva as she jotted notes from one of the other agents. Tearing her eyes from her new team, her gaze slowly swept the scene, as if she could figure out what was wrong from her position near the passenger side of the crime scene truck.

"Gracy!" Gibbs called out, snapping her back to reality. She headed over to where he was standing. "I want you to take a preliminary look at the body."

"Shouldn't we wait for Ducky?" she asked with a frown.

"It's just a look," he repeated. "You're the only one who's seen every body."

"You mean, every body _so far_," she replied. He didn't say anything for a moment as he continued to study her. He understood her reluctance, but if each of these bodies was related to Major Scott Gracy, they needed the set of eyes that examined Gracy in the first place.

"We'll get this guy," he said, repeating his words from the night before. She slowly nodded and walked away, heading toward the body as she pulled a pair of gloves from the pocket of her jacket. As focused as she was on her task, she didn't notice Gibbs following her until he ran into her when she stopped abruptly.

"_Du meine G__ü__te_," she said involuntarily, not even realizing she was echoing the words she had spoken when she saw her husband on her dining room table.

"You know him?" Gibbs asked, concerned. She nodded, remembering.

_She glanced toward the clock as she heard the sound of the key in the lock, smiling slightly; right on time. If there was one thing Scott had learned from four years of ROTC and ten years in the Army, it was punctuality. "Hey," she called out as the door opened. "Did you get the hot dog buns?"_

_"Would you believe me if I said the commissary was out?" Scott called back. She rolled her eyes as she exited the kitchen toward the townhouse's entryway._

_"No," she said bluntly. Her eyes traveled from her husband to the man standing just next to him, her head tilted slightly to the side as she waited for Scott to make introductions._

_His eyes still fixed on his shoes as he untied them, he completely missed the expression on her face, but the new visitor didn't. "Good God, Gracy, you never told me your wife was so hot," he said, leering slightly._

_"Oh?" Sonja asked, amused. Scott finally straightened and rolled his eyes._

_"He's lying," he said bluntly, leaning over to give his wife a quick kiss as he passed over the bag of groceries, complete with the hot dog buns she had requested. "That's all I talk about at work. Sonja, this is Lt. Louis Farver, Naval Intelligence. Lou, my wife, Sonja."_

_"Welcome," she said, shaking the Navy officer's hand. "You must be part of Calypso."_

_"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a grin. She rolled her eyes at the address._

_"I may be a major, but you can call me Sonja. I'm glad you can make it. I need to meet everyone who's going to be keeping my husband company for the next twelve months. The more of you low-lifes he'll be associating with, the more eager he'll be to come home to his workaholic wife and two bratty kids." She gave him a wide grin to let him know she was joking before gesturing vaguely toward the back of the condo. "Almost everyone's over in the complex's social room, which they so kindly let us use for this Fourth of July/Pre-Deployment gathering."_

"Lt. Louis Farver, Naval Intelligence," she finally vocalized. "He was part of the initial deployment of Calypso, with Scott. I met him on July 4, 2007."

"You remember the date?"

She turned to him, a quizzical expression on her face. "It was a Fourth of July party. That's not too hard to remember." She turned back to the body. "It was also the day before they deployed." Shaking her head slightly, she continued. "He came the party alone; Scott picked him up on base and gave him a ride, so I'm assuming he's unmarried—at least, he was then. I didn't spend too much time talking to him at the party."

"Do you know what he did with the group?"

Shaking her head, she finally bent down closer to the body. "No idea," she murmured, already focused on her work. She gently probed some of the cuts on Farver's body, stopping at a deep one on the left side of his chest. "This is the same as Hawke," she said. "Fatal stab wound to the heart, likely the cause of death." She frowned as she examined the ground around the body, concrete stained with years of salt water and dirt, but no blood. "He was killed elsewhere and dropped here—a wound like that would mean liters of blood in seconds, and the ground is bare."

"Time of death?"

She shook her head, slightly amused. "Ducky did mention you like to jump the gun on that one," she murmured. Picking up the victim's hand, she gently moved some of the fingers before moving on to the jaw, opening and closing it gently. "Not long. He's cold, but rigor hasn't begun. Two hours, maybe three."

"He must have been dumped right before NCIS got the call."

"The call?" she echoed, confused.

He nodded. "They got an anonymous tip about a body by the docks. They came out here to check it out and found this."

"I hope that call was taped," she said with a frown. "It could have been the killer." A sudden look of alarm crossed her face, mirrored instantly by his as they both arrived to the same conclusion. "This could be a trap."

"DiNozzo, Ziva—," Gibbs barked into his wrist piece, but was cutoff by the sudden report of a gun, followed immediately by a splash and a scream. Both agents were instantly on their feet, running toward the water, in the direction of the shot. Gibbs had his gun drawn, but Gracy kept hers on her belt, peeling off her jacket and kicking off her shoes as she ran.

"Where's Tony?" Gracy demanded as Officer David came into view, her Sig drawn, her eyes sweeping the scene for any sign of movement.

"He fell in," the Mossad officer said grimly. "I do not know if he was shot."

Knowing that hypothermia would set in within minutes at those temperatures, and DiNozzo's only chance of survival, gunshot wound or not, was to get him out, Gracy took a deep breath and continued to run toward the end of the dock. Realizing what she was about to do, both David and Gibbs yelled for her to stop, but she ignored them, entering the frigid water with a perfect dive.

Swearing under his breath, Gibbs saw movement out of the corner of his eye. "Stay with them!" he ordered David as he set out after the mysterious gunman. "Freeze! Federal agent!" he shouted, continuing to run. If he had heard Gibbs, the man gave no indication.

He fired a shot, knowing that at that distance and while running, it would go wide, which it did, but it caught the gunman off-guard. Slipping slightly on a patch of ice, he grabbed for a railing before righting himself, continuing on his way. "Freeze!" Gibbs shouted again. Instead, the darkly clothed man jumped into an idling boat, an accomplice already at the wheel. Gibbs emptied his chamber as the boat sped away, with no indication that he had hit anything.

He called in the boat's registry number to the Norfolk NCIS team for a BOLO, feeling the familiar surge of anger at himself when the suspect got away. Before he could dwell too much on that fact, he remembered that he had two agents in what must have barely above freezing water. Holstering his gun, he broke into a run in the direction he had just come, hoping it wasn't too late.


	18. Chapter 18

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 18**

_A/N: All of the medical stuff in here is fairly accurate, from the stages to hypothermia to how to care for someone rescued from really, really cold water; so if you find yourself in that situation, you'll know what to do. And yes, hypothermia sets in very, very quickly in cold water-even a strong swimmer without thermal protection would probably only manage to swim about 100 feet in 40 degree (F) water before losing consciousness._

* * *

Special Agent Sonja Gracy stiffened as her body hit the frigid water, every muscle tightening painfully, her mouth opening in a silent gasp, her mind barely able to tell her lungs not to attempt to draw a breath in the shock.

Although it felt like hours, less than a second had gone by before her mind caught up to the sensations of the cold water on her body. _What the hell was I thinking?_ she asked herself angrily. Diving into the water without getting a clear visual was irresponsible, reckless, stupid—

_And necessary_, she finished her list, breaking the water's surface with that gasp she had denied herself seconds ago. There was another agent in the water, and for someone as well-trained as she was—a lifeguard since fifteen, EMT since eighteen, doctor since twenty-six—doing what she did was just reflex.

She scanned the surface of the water, looking for clues as to DiNozzo's location. Only a few feet to her right, she saw the tell-tale signs of bubbles breaking the surface. Drawing in another breath, she again dove below the surface, her eyes burning against the salt and oil of the water as she frantically searched for the submerged agent.

She finally caught sight of those bubbles again and followed them down a few feet to a slowly sinking Tony DiNozzo, his eyes closed, obviously unconscious. Not seeing any red water, she was confident that he hadn't been shot, which raised the question of _why_ he was unconscious. Concerned about a concussion, or worse, a cervical spine injury, she put her arms around the NCIS in a C-spine rescue position—one hand on his jaw, the other at the back of his head, his body held between one forearm locked at his sternum and the other along his spine—and kicked toward the surface.

"Ziva!" she called as she surfaced, grimacing at how weak and shaky her voice sounded. She could feel her entire body shaking violently, aware that she wouldn't last too much longer before she lost consciousness due to hypothermia. It took her a few seconds of blinking the salty water from her eyes, but she finally caught sight of the dark-haired Mossad officer a few feet away. Trying valiantly to keep her own head, as well as DiNozzo's, above the surface while supporting him without a flotation device, she began to scissor kick toward the dock, her legs moving in a barely coordinated fashion.

"I can pull him out of the water," David called out to her as she reached down for her partner's shoulders.

"No!" Gracy replied. "He c-could have a C-spine in-injury. You p-pull h-him out, you c-could break his n-n-neck." She wasn't sure if Ziva had even understood her words until the officer slowly withdrew her arms, her face wearing an expression of panic, feeling hopeless in the situation. Gracy's eyes quickly scanned the length of the dock until she saw a familiar orange and white ring. "The lifesav-ver! G-grab it an-and throw it in." It didn't take a doctor to know that Gracy herself was in bad shape as Ziva tossed her the lifesaving device. It took three reaches before she was able to hook her arm around it, her body shaking so badly she almost dropped DiNozzo as she positioned it under him.

"Gracy!" Gibbs shouted from his sudden position next to David. "Get out of there!"

"I-I'm having so-so m-much fun," she managed, her words barely legible even to herself between the chattering of her jaw and the water that kept splashing into her mouth as she kept dipping below the surface, her legs too cold, too uncoordinated to keep both her and DiNozzo afloat.

She spit another mouthful of water out before attempting to speak again. "Zi-Ziva," she said, willing herself to speak clearly. "Sta-stabilize his neck," she said, managing to move close enough to the dock for Ziva to reach down. "Two-two hands, th-th-thumbs on his ja-jaw, fi-fingers a-at the b-back of his n-neck." She took a moment to catch her breath, a difficult task with her body shivering violently. "Gi-Gibbs, grab hi-his feet and lift to-to-together o-on three. One, t-two, three!" As one, the three agents—two on the dock, one in the water—lifted DiNozzo's still form from the water.

"Tony!" Ziva shouted, sounding uncharacteristically frantic.

"D-don't l-let go o-of his n-n-neck!" Gracy commanded.

"Give me your hands!" Gibbs shouted, reaching down, prepared to hoist her up. Her arms stiff with cold, she slowly raised them above her head, her body sinking lower into the water in response. Not wasting any time, Gibbs grabbed her wrists and pulled.

Barely out of the water for a second, Gracy's attention was already back on DiNozzo. "P-pulse?" she managed, her body still shaking violently. Ziva started to move her hand to check, but Gracy stopped her. "H-h-hold his n-neck!" she ordered. "G-Gibbs, ch-check the p-p-p-pulse."

"I think I feel it," Gibbs replied.

"He is not breathing," Ziva reported. Gracy nodded, but the motion was mostly lost by her shivering.

"R-r-resc-cue br-breathing," she managed. She made her way over to DiNozzo's head to confirm that he wasn't breathing. "Keep h-holding," she said to Ziva as she thrust Tony's jaw without moving his neck. "D-damn," she whispered. "Ha-hands numb." Before either Gibbs or Ziva could say anything, she bent down and gave two breaths. "Gibbs, ch-check p-pulse a-again." As he did so, she started struggling with the buttons of her shirt, trying to get it off.

"It's there, but really slow. Should I give CPR?" He frowned as he noticed her actions. "What are you doing?"

"G-getting out o-of w-wet clothes," she replied. "O-only way t-to get w-w-warm. N-no CP-PR. C-could dam-mage h-heart. T-take off hi-his clothes."

Before starting that, Gibbs shrugged out of his own jacket and tossed it over DiNozzo to the CID agent. "Get warm," he ordered. Even with DiNozzo lying unconscious in front of him, he was concerned about her; with the exception of those freckles across her nose and cheeks, her face was ghostly pale, icicles were hanging from loose tendrils of hair, and her fingers where they had rested at DiNozzo's jaw were literally blue at the tips.

"S-sure," she said, rolling her eyes and not bothering to argue. She continued to struggle with her shirt, not seeming to be able to move her arms properly to get it off. Her sleeve caught on the brace on her right wrist, which she stared at as if confused about why it was there. "Wh-where are the p-paramedics?"

"On their way," Gibbs replied, reached over to yank the shirt from her arm. She blinked heavily a few times, still looking confused. She looked far too cold and weak to even fully sit up, but continued to lean over DiNozzo, a clumsy hand attempting to open his eyes to check his pupils.

"You are not shivering as much," Ziva commented, watching Gracy, who sure enough, was beginning to calm from the violent shaking, her color still on the blue side of pale. She shook her head.

"That's not a good thing," she informed her after giving two more breaths. "I need to check for a p-pulse." She pressed her fingers to DiNozzo's neck and frowned. "It's th-there, but thready. What does that mean?" She frowned, trying to remember. "I think it means CPR?"

"I thought you said no CPR," Gibbs stated with a frown.

"Right. No CPR. Fragile myocardium, c-could cause V-fib. Brady t-tolerated." Gibbs and David shared a concerned look, not missing the fact that the one person who knew what to do was becoming more and more confused by the second. Fortunately, it wasn't long before the familiar sound of wailing sirens approaching, followed closely by paramedics running toward their position, already shouting questions.

"What've we got?" one asked as he all but pushed Ziva out of the way, ignoring her homicidal glare.

"Male, l-late thirties, severe hypothermia with a possible C-spine injury," Gracy explained as quickly as possible, watching the men carefully position DiNozzo on the backboard. She frowned, trying to remember. "He was shot at and went in the water. I d-don't think he was shot."

That paramedic gave one brisk nod as he stuck a long piece of tape across the NCIS agent's forehead, stabilizing his head between the large foam cushions of the backboard. The other politely moved Gibbs aside, forcefully cutting through DiNozzo's remaining clothing. Ziva grimaced slightly at the sight of the grayish pallor of her partner.

"He will not be happy about his clothes," she muttered to herself. Gracy looked up sharply at her.

"He won't care if he's dead," she shot back bluntly before returning her attention to the paramedics. "Do you have a 12-lead? Check f-for J waves, bradycardia, and...there's more," she said, her voice trailing off as she tried to remember.

If the paramedics noticed her confusion, they gave no indication. The one at DiNozzo's head held up the toolbox-sized machine, complete with defibrillator paddles. "We have it covered, ma'am. If you could step aside…?"

"I'm a doctor," she said bluntly, glossing over the fact that while she was practicing, her patients were already dead. "He has symptomatic bradycardia and needs cardioversion—at least, I th-think he needs c-cardioversion..."

"He needs to be warmed up," the medic interrupted, even as he attached the leads. He stared at the small screen for a second before shaking his head. "He's not in V-fib. Pulse is thirty and irregular. Get an IV going, we need to hook him up to warm saline." He looked up at Gracy. "The nearest hospital is only about five minutes away—"

"He needs to be transferred to Bethesda as soon as he's stable," Gracy interrupted. "He's a federal agent, NCIS. That's Naval-"

"That's a three and a half hour drive!" the paramedic protested.

"Shorter if you use a helicopter," Gibbs replied, thinking about their commute there less than two hours before.

The paramedic looked at them both as if they were insane, but shrugged a shoulder. "Take it up with the docs at the hospital," he replied. "Let's roll."

"Wait," Gracy said, rising to follow them and stumbling over her own feet in the process. She picked herself up, barely. The rush of adrenaline that had been keeping her going since she dove into the harbor was beginning to ebb. "I need to go."

"We got it," the younger paramedic replied, rolling his eyes before climbing into the driver's seat. She turned to face him.

"Who do you think got him out of the water?" she shot back. "I'm at least moderately hypothermic—I think..."

"You're not even shivering!" he said, even as his partner reached down from his position in the back of the ambulance to help her up.

"Why do you think I said moderate?" she said, her voice weak and almost drowsy. "Look it up—cessation of shivers is one of the clinical—clinical distinctions between mild and moderate hypothermia." Her eyes fluttered closed for a second before opening again. "I need passive external and active external and active internal rewarming—Bair huggers, warm IVs, and maybe a warm peritoneal lav—_scheisse!_" she managed, doubling over in pain as the massive headache hit her all at once. She struggled to stay conscious, barely registering the man next to her yelling at the driver to step on it. By the time he got a bag of warm saline running into her vein, she had already lost the battle.


	19. Chapter 19

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 19**

_A/N: Most of this chapter is just filler (I wanted to show off some of my medical knowledge again :)). However, it does have hints of Tiva-finally! I've been trying to write it in for awhile, but it just didn't fit in anywhere until now. Don't worry, there's more to come :)_

* * *

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Officer Ziva David watched in silence as the ambulance sped away, sirens and horns blaring, telling the world to stay out of its way. Once it was out of sight, Gibbs turned to face the Mossad officer to find her still staring after that ambulance, her face a mask of anguish and despair. _She's useless in this state_, he thought, sighing internally. Had the situation not been so grim, he would have smiled at the observation: Ziva, who had been, by all accounts, as emotional as an automaton when he was hospitalized after being blown up, was now worried to distraction at her partner's state. _Obviously, she cares more for DiNozzo than she does for me_, he thought wryly, as if he didn't already know that.

He knew from the years that they had worked together that the best thing for David was to stay busy. "Ziva," he said gently, hoping to get her attention. Her eyes remained fixed on the turn in the road where they had lost sight of the ambulance. "Hey!" he yelled.

That finally worked. Her head snapped toward him, her eyes wide in alarm. "What?" she finally asked.

"I need you to get a car from Norfolk NCIS and get to the hospital. Keep an eye on DiNozzo and Gracy, and remind the doctors that they need to get to Bethesda as soon as they possibly can. The guy who did this to them is still out there, and I want to put as many miles between him and them as we can." He paused. "Tell the doctors that DiNozzo's had the plague. That should make them want to get rid of him."

She frowned slightly, not needing the reminder of Tony's past medical condition to compound the worry she already had. "Agent Gracy will remind them that they need to go to Bethesda, no? I do not see—." She stopped abruptly at the look on his face. "To the hospital. Got it. What will you be doing?"

"I'll work the scene with the team here while we wait for Ducky and Palmer to arrive," he informed her. "I'll meet the three of you at Bethesda when we're done." He stressed the words _three of you_, letting her know that he wasn't giving up on DiNozzo, and she shouldn't either.

Her frown deepened. "I should stay here and help—"

"You should do what I tell you, Officer David," he interrupted forcefully. "It wasn't a request."

"I will go," she said with a nod, turning and walking away. Gibbs shivered with a sudden chill, a reminder that Gracy had his jacket, leaving him out in the frozen weather with only a long-sleeved shirt. He shivered again, this time at the memory of how blue-gray her skin had been, the frozen strands of hair, and the violent chattering of teeth that jumbled everything she said. He found himself hoping fervently that her impulse to save DiNozzo's life hadn't cost her her own.

Special Agent Sonja Gracy groaned at the pain behind her eyes. "_Verletzt_," she moaned.

"It speaks," an amused voice said from beside her. She opened her eyes, ignoring the shooting pain of the bright lights. It took a moment before she was able to register the face of a man standing over her, his expression kind and almost relieved. "We were wondering when you'd come to."

"_Wo—_," she began, then stopped herself, switching languages. "Where am I?" All she knew was that she was very, very cold, and seemed to be strapped to a table. At least, she couldn't move her arms or legs, so she _hoped_ she was strapped to a table, and not completely paralyzed.

"Somewhere between Norfolk and Bethesda," the man, whom she could now see was wearing a flight suit, replied. She could make out the dull roar of the helicopter as her head began to clear. "We were told, rather insistently, that that's where you need to be."

"The docks," she said, remembering. She frowned; she remembered being at the docks, but couldn't remember why she was there or what she was doing. There had been a body, and she had been called to examine it—no, that wasn't right. She wasn't a medical examiner anymore, was she? And how did she get from looking at a body to shivering in a helicopter?

If the flight nurse had noticed her confusion, he gave no indication. "You decided to take a little swim. Never a good idea in Virginia in January, and especially not in the middle of a record cold spell." He paused for a second as he studied her vitals. "You said it hurts?"

She frowned, trying to remember what language she had said that in before she realized she didn't care. "My head," she explained.

"I can give you more morphine."

She shook her head as best she could. "No opiates. Respiratory depression. Not a good idea with hypothermia." Hypothermia? Was that her problem? Well, it certainly explained how cold she was. She glanced around her surroundings, seeing how well-stocked the helicopter was. "Caffeine?"

The flight nurse chuckled. "Sorry, our coffee machine broke," he said with a smile before shaking his head. "No IV caffeine, either."

"Tramadol?" It had been awhile since she had done any clinical medicine, but she seemed to remember that that could be used for headaches.

"Coming right up." He drew up the medication, injecting it into her IV. She lapsed into silence, knowing it'll still be at least a couple of minutes before she felt the effects. She frowned, some of the details of what she was doing on the Norfolk docks still a bit hazy, but coming. She was pretty sure it involved Agent DiNozzo, but she couldn't remember how or why. "Tony?"

"Agent DiNozzo is right here," he replied, gesturing toward the second bed in the cramped helicopter. She frowned at the shiny silver covering over his body before realizing she was similarly attired. She could also feel what seemed to be heating pads against her skin, under the silver blanket, removing any doubt in her mind that she was hypothermic.

"In the Army, we use body bags," she said, aware after the words left her mouth what it sounded like she was saying. The nurse frowned.

"He's not dead," he explained. "And I hear that that's thanks to you."

"I meant, to keep casualties warm," she said, ignoring the second part of his statement. She didn't know what he meant, and didn't want to dwell on it. "Body bags don't breathe. Zip them up to here," she gestured to her chin, "and it conserves body heat."

"We do that in the Navy, too," he replied. She squinted slightly at him, finally making out that he was wearing a Navy flight suit. "But usually for battlefield casualties. We're better equipped here."

She nodded slightly, pleased to realize that it didn't cause the same waves of pain. She glanced down at the IV in her arm, her eyes following the tubing up to a bag of saline. "Warm saline?" she asked.

"I think it's your sixth or seventh liter," he replied with a nod. "You also had a warm peritoneal lavage at the hospital, and in addition to our stylish blankets, you're also surrounded by heating pads. We're not equipped for Bair huggers here, but I imagine they'll put you back in one when we get to Bethesda."

She nodded again, her eyes travelling over to Agent DiNozzo. "How is he?" she managed, almost afraid for the answer.

"He's stable," the nurse said with a nod. "He has a concussion and fracture of the transverse process of C4. He also inhaled some of the pristine Norfolk water before you got him out, so he's having some respiratory distress, but he is breathing on his own. We have him on a non-rebreather now, as well as antibiotics for the pneumonia that's likely to follow. The docs back in Norfolk were going to do a warm bronchial lavage, but Officer David was insistent that it could wait until he got to Bethesda."

Gracy smiled slightly at the thought of an 'insistent' Ziva. She had probably threatened the hospital staff with their lives if they didn't transfer the two agents immediately. "Insistent?" she echoed.

The nurse nodded with a grin and nodded toward the cockpit. "She was also 'insistent' that she ride shotgun on the trip. She's been asking for an update every five minutes." He paused and pointed at his headset. "There she is now," he said with a grin. He positioned his microphone in front of his mouth before reporting that Gracy was awake and talking and DiNozzo was still stable, but unconscious. He paused, nodding slightly before turning his attention back to Gracy.

"We're about three minutes from the hospital," he told her. "Just so you know what'll be going on, they're going to take care of Agent DiNozzo first and get him into the trauma bay before they get you. Everything's going to be happening pretty quickly."

She nodded, slightly amused. "I went to medical school, remember? I know how things work in a trauma." She made a face. "God. Incompetent med students again. This will be less than fun." He grinned at her attempt at humor before returning his attention to DiNozzo, getting him ready for the medical teams that would follow.

As promised, everything went very quickly as soon as the helicopter touched down on the roof of National Naval Medical Center, giving Gracy little time to do anything but blink before she found herself in a trauma bay, surrounded by shouted commands coming from every direction. When she heard an intern tell a medical student to get ready to start a second IV, she finally put her foot down.

"Stop!" she said, getting the attention of everyone in the room. "I want a nurse to put in the IV. I'm a doctor, so I know how med students do IVs—no offense—and I am not in the mood to be anybody's damned pincushion. I'll let you do the most complete history and physical you've ever done, just…don't practice procedures on me. And I don't need a Foley catheter, either, so don't even think about it." She turned to glare at another intern, who sheepishly replaced the Foley kit in the cupboard. "Now, will somebody give me some caffeine for this damned headache?"


	20. Chapter 20

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 20**

_A/N: I think there's maybe one brief, tiny hint of Tiva in this chapter (sorry). Don't worry, there's a lot more in the next one. _

_Oh, and I just couldn't resist bringing in Dr. Brad Pitt :)_

* * *

Gibbs burst through the doors to the emergency department family waiting room just in time to see Ziva swear loudly in Hebrew at one of the hospital phones before slamming it violently against the wall several times. "Hey!" he exclaimed, rushing to her side to remove the abused receiver from her hands. "Calm down!"

She managed a shaky breath before nodding, her eyes lifting to meet Gibbs'. "That was the receptionist of the Pulmonology department," she explained, her voice bitter. "Dr. Brad Pitt has been deployed to the _USNS Comfort_ in the Indian Ocean and is obviously not available to check up on Tony."

He nodded slowly, not needing to be reminded that Dr. Pitt was the physician who had cared for DiNozzo during his bout of pneumonic plague. "He isn't the only pulmonologist in the Navy, Ziva," he said gently, reminding her that it wasn't the end of the world. His eyes fell on a clipboard resting on Ziva's abandoned chair as he replaced the receiver. "You know DiNozzo's medical history?" he asked as he realized what she was filling out.

"I am his partner," she said defensively. "And with how often he is shot at, beat up, and hit in the head, I thought it prudent to know his medical history in case he is brought in unconscious and could not give it himself."

He picked up the sheet and scanned it, realizing how complete it was; she even knew about the knee surgery that marked the end of DiNozzo's college basketball career. "Does he know that you know this?" Gibbs asked, almost amused.

"Of course," she replied indignantly, taking the clipboard from his hands. "And he knows my medical history as well. Just in case."

"Just in case," Gibbs echoed, earning him another glare from the Mossad officer. "How are they?"

David took a deep breath, forcing herself back to business. "Agent Gracy regained consciousness in the helicopter. She complained of a headache, so she got a…cat scan?" He nodded that that was the correct phrase and waited for her to continue. "She has been transferred to the ICU for continued monitoring. They say her temperature is still low, but she is stable. Tony…" Her voice drifted off before she focused again. "They scanned his head and neck at the hospital in Norfolk. He has a concussion and a fracture of a transverse process, which the doctors said will heal on its own without any complications. He was still unconscious when we arrived. I have not been updated on his status." She held up the clipboard. "I believe they gave me this to fill out to keep me busy, yes?"

"If I had thought giving you paperwork was enough to get you to shut up, I would have tried that years ago," he said with a slight smile. She glared briefly at him, but it lacked its usual force.

"The case?" she finally asked, remembering why Gibbs hadn't been there all along.

"Ducky and Palmer are bringing the body back to NCIS for the autopsy," he began. "I went through the rest of the scene with the Norfolk team. The only evidence we have is a print from the railing he grabbed while I was chasing him. I sent it to Abby. She'll let me know if we get a hit."

Ziva took a minute processing this. "Do you think it is the same man who killed Major Gracy?"

"Him or someone who worked with him," Gibbs said. He took a sip of coffee. "I need to talk to Gracy."

David frowned, not quite following the conversation. "You do not think Agent Gracy had something to do with this, do you?"

He gave her the 'I'm not dignifying that with a response' look. "ICU?" he asked.

"Right," she replied with a brisk nod. "Those elevators, fourth floor."

* * *

"Um, any surgeries?" Special Agent Sonja Gracy smiled politely at the young medical student, Ensign something-or-other, while she groaned inwardly.

"Left anterior acrominoplasty with distal clavicle excision in December 2004. That was to correct supraspinatus and biceps tendonitis—swimmer's shoulder. And a couple of months before that, in September, I had a primary cesarean due to failure to progress. Both of those were done here."

"Okay," the ensign said slowly, trying to figure out how to spell 'acrominoplasty' in his notes. "So, uh, what about your social history? I mean, uh, do you work? I mean, what do you do?"

She smiled slightly again, remembering her own days of learning how to take a medical history. "Yes, I have a job," she informed him. "I'm a CID special agent. I've been doing that for about six months. Before that, I was a forensic pathologist at the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology, major in the Army. My MOS was 61-Uniform." She looked up and saw Agent Gibbs standing in the doorway, an amused expression on his face as he sipped his coffee. She turned back to the ensign. "I'm sorry, I know I promised you a complete history and physical, but that's my boss," she nodded toward the doorway, "and we need to discuss this case. And he's probably going to threaten to fire me for jumping in the harbor."

"Oh, sure, Major—uh, Special Agent," the ensign stammered, quickly gathering his notes and heading out the door.

"I'm not going to fire you—yet," Gibbs said warningly. Gracy rolled her eyes. "What you did was completely idiotic, and if you even think about trying something like that again—"

"How's DiNozzo?" she interrupted.

"They're bringing him up from the trauma bay," he admitted, both of them knowing that if she hadn't done what she did, he wouldn't be saying that. Still, as he studied her—completely covered in blankets, a soft whirring sound coming from the inflatable Bair hugger under those, tangled hair peeking out from a dark blue stocking cap, IVs hooked up to what looked like small ovens running in both arms, surrounded by the monitors and machines of the ICU—he couldn't help but realize how close _both_ of the agents had come to freezing to death.

Before he had the chance to say anything further, she beat him to it. "Where are we on the case?" she asked, completely business.

He took a deep breath before sitting down, gauging how much she could be told. Her eyes held a challenging look, as if daring him to keep anything back, and he knew that he couldn't. "The guy who shot at DiNozzo got away in a boat at the harbor," he began. "I put a BOLO out for the boat, but so far, no hits. After you left in the ambulance, I went through the scene with the Norfolk team. The only thing we got was a set of fingerprints—and mostly smudged ones at that—from where the bastard grabbed the railing while I was chasing him. Abby's running those now."

"Abby?" she asked with a frown. "Doesn't Norfolk have a forensics lab? I mean, this is somewhat personal for the team, and—"

"And when has it _not_ been personal?" he demanded, an edge to his voice. She blinked once in surprise before her expression hardened.

"If you're implying—"

"Abby works best when it's personal," he interrupted, not letting her finish. He paused for a second before saying, "She'll be coming here in a couple of hours with her facial recognition software. If you think you can—"

"Give you a description of the man who made me perform an autopsy on my husband?" It was her turn to interrupt. "Yeah, I can do it."

"It's been over a year—"

"I still know his face," she replied. "His face, his build, his voice. I'll remember it for the rest of my life." She paused for a second before asking softly, "Do you still remember the face of the man who killed your wife and daughter?"

"Down to the hole in the middle of his forehead," he replied without missing a beat.

"You should have asked me to do this days ago."

He nodded. "I know."

"I'm not fragile, Gibbs. I'm not going to break down again."

"I know."

"Okay." They stared at each other for a minute before she averted her gaze, down to the cup he held in his hand. She brightened. "Is that coffee?"

"If you consider what they have here 'coffee'," he replied, holding the cup out to her. After a minute of struggling with the blankets to free a hand, she brought it to her mouth, deeply inhaling the strong aroma before taking a sip.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked from doorway. She saw one of the ICU residents standing there, a long white coat covering his wrinkled scrubs, and she lowered the cup guiltily.

"Passive internal rewarming?" she attempted sheepishly. The resident rolled his eyes and marched into the room, taking the cup from her hand.

"You're NPO!" he scolded. "You're moderately hypothermic! You shouldn't be eating or drinking anything!" He took a whiff of the coffee and continued, "And especially not anything caffeinated! Your heart is fragile right now—"

"Okay, first of all, I'm now in the _mildly_ hypothermic range," Gracy interrupted, pointing at her temperature on the monitor. "And my heart is fine. If anything, it's still bradycardic. A bit of caffeine might help speed it up a bit. Besides, I have a headache, and every third year medical student knows that caffeine is a really good drug for headaches."

"Doctors make the worst patients," the resident muttered, walking away, Gibbs' coffee still in hand.

"Hey!" Gibbs called after him. "That's my coffee!"

"Let it go," Gracy replied, stifling a deep yawn. "He probably needs it more than you do."

"_Never_ come between a Marine and his coffee," Gibbs muttered darkly, sitting back down.

"Is that one of your infamous rules, Gunny?" Gracy asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Number twenty-three," Gibbs said bitterly. She chuckled slightly before her expression became serious again.

"We need to talk about the case, Gibbs," she said, her light brown eyes grim. "And while we do, you need to stop treating me like a rookie agent and start treating me like a victim's wife. That means questions about motive, finances, affairs. We know that this started with Scott and we know that our killers want us aware of that fact, but we don't know _why_, and I for one want to find out."


	21. Chapter 21

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 21**

_A/N: Finally! The much-awaited chapter with Tiva! Well, much awaited by me-ever since I wrote it, I've been counting down the days until it was time to post it. It's not really a hardcore Tiva chapter (come on...he's in intensive care with a concussion and hypothermia), but it's still more than CBS has been giving us._

* * *

NCIS Special Agent Tim McGee leaned against the side of the elevator as the doors slid closed, exhaling a long, tired breath. As if being sentenced to Cyber Crimes for three months wasn't bad enough (and was entirely his fault, but he chose not to dwell on that), he had received a frantic call from Abby about how horribly, horribly wrong the situation was. After getting her to calm down—never an easy feat under any circumstance—she had explained how the crime scene was a trap, how the suspect had fired at Tony and how he and Agent Gracy were currently in the ICU at Bethesda with hypothermia. The entire explanation didn't make much sense to him, but he went with it anyway. And then she tried to get him to run the evidence from the crime scene so she could go to the hospital to see them, but he put his foot down (which wasn't easy, seeing as he currently only had one functioning foot and a pair of crutches), and told her that she had to do her job and he would go to the hospital. She had pouted, and hit him, and when neither of those worked, sent him on his way with a laptop with the facial recognition software, telling him that if he got to see Tony, he should at least get some work done while he was there.

And all of that brought him to that elevator, taking him to the medical intensive care unit while wrestling with a pair of crutches and a laptop bag that kept slipping off his shoulder. As the doors slid open, he hitched up the bag, gripped the crutches, and made his way to the nurse's station. After some unexpected sympathy at his condition, he was redirected to the family waiting area, where he immediately saw Ziva sitting in a corner, looking as much like crap as Ziva David could—her dark hair had partially worked itself out of her usual crime scene braid and was hanging in knotted tangles, her eyes surrounded by dark circles, a forgotten cup of coffee in her hand as she stared at the wall, a haunted expression on her face. "Ziva?" McGee asked tentatively.

She snapped instantly to attention, as she had a tendency to do, relaxing when she registered the familiar face. "McGee," she replied.

He took a seat next to her, setting his crutches aside. "What happened?" he asked gently.

She shook her head slightly, her eyes down on the cup in her hands. "We were at the crime scene," she began, her voice dull. "We heard a gunshot. Tony was startled and fell off the dock into the harbor. I thought he had been shot." She brought the cup to her lips, still not meeting McGee's eye. He couldn't even tell if she was drinking it, or just using it as a prop to give herself a moment before continuing. "I could not see the gunman, but Gibbs could. He took off after him, and Agent Gracy dove in the harbor and brought Tony out. After they were stabilized at the local hospital, they were transferred here."

"Wow," he murmured, as much at Ziva's obvious despair as the circumstances of the day. Before he got a chance to comment, a doctor entered the room and headed toward them.

"Mrs. DiNozzo?" he asked. McGee's eyes widened in shock, but Ziva just shook her head.

"Ziva David," she corrected. "We are not married. I am his partner." Seeing the look on the doctor's face, she amended, "His _work_ partner."

"Oh," the physician murmured. "Well, um, you're listed as his power of attorney while he's unconscious?"

"Yes," Ziva replied, not explaining. The doctor nodded slightly before continuing.

"I'm Commander Michael Watler, one of the Pulmonary/Critical Care attendings," he introduced. "I understand he's been seen by my colleague, Commander Pitt?"

Ziva nodded. "He had been infected with a genetically modified _Y. pestis_ a few years ago."

"Yes, I see that," Watler murmured. "Well, he has some significant scarring in his lungs from that, which combined with the hypothermia and the water he inhaled, is making things rather complicated. I'd like to do a procedure called a bronchial-alveolar lavage, which is—"

"The doctors in Norfolk explained it," she interrupted.

"I just want to make sure you're aware of the risks and benefits of the procedure before getting your consent," he said, handing her the clipboard while he explained everything again. She nodded brusquely, giving the form a quick signature before Dr. Watler went on his way.

"Mrs. DiNozzo?" McGee asked lightly as Watler walked away.

She turned a glare in his direction. "If you breathe one word of that to Gibbs, I will show you in great detail what Mossad does to suspected Hamas agents."

He held up his hands defensively. "Right. I said nothing. Uh-heard nothing. At all."

* * *

The third time in five minutes that Agent Gracy yawned, Agent Gibbs was beginning to worry. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded, ducking her head in attempts to cover up the yawn, as both hands were again bundled up under the blankets. "Fine," she finally said. "Hypothermia makes people yawn."

"Maybe we should let you get some sleep and continue this later?" Truth be told, his questioning of her like he would any other victim's wife wasn't getting them anywhere—Scott and Sonja Gracy had lived a fairly non-descript life. There were no jealous ex-lovers, no enemies, no skeletons in their closets. What she had said before, about their largest fight being about a dining room set, he had no problem believing.

She shook her head, barely stifling another yawn. She caught sight of the clock on the wall and froze. "Oh, no," she moaned. "It's Thursday, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

She groaned. "It's the nanny's evening off. She has a night class at the university. Someone has to go get the kids."

"I can do it," he volunteered. She gave him a quizzical look.

"You don't have to do that," she protested. "I can ask a schoolmate's mother to let them have a sleep-over tonight."

He shook his head. "We don't know for sure that this guy isn't after your family." He paused before adding, "He's already used your daughter as a pawn in his game once. I'm not going to let him do it again."

She studied him for half a second before nodding. "Okay." He nodded before rising, his car keys in hand. "And bring me a change of clothes for the morning!" she called out after him.

* * *

"Ms. David?" Ziva's eyes snapped open at the sound of the nurse's voice, not even realizing that she had drifted off until that moment. McGee had left some time before, saying something about facial recognition software and talking to Agent Gracy, and she had let the events of the day get the better of her. "Agent DiNozzo is back from his procedure, if you would like to see him."

"Yes, thank you," Ziva murmured.

"He's still unconscious," the nurse warned, "and he doesn't look all that great, but he has been extubated and he's breathing on his own." Officer David nodded at these words as she followed the nurse to DiNozzo's room, the adjoining room to Gracy as per Gibbs' request, separated by only a curtain and sheet of glass.

She stood just inside the open doorway, studying her partner. Despite the nurse's words, part of her had expected him to open his eyes and smirk, making some comment about catching her staring. Yet, she didn't need medical training to know that it would be a few hours before he'd be up to that. His face, the only exposed skin on his body, was still a shade of gray not unlike Ducky's cadavers. His brown hair was covered by a dark watch cap, his body easily twice its normal size with the inflatable Bair hugger and piles of blankets.

After a few minutes of staring, she finally approached, stroking his cheek gently with her hand, careful not to displace the oxygen tube running under his nose. "Hello, Tony," she said softly, not sure if he could hear her. "If you are trying to set a record for most stays in Bethesda, you are well on your way. They say three more, and they will name a room after you." Her smile was forced, trying to imagine his usual banter. "Oh, very funny, Ziva," she mocked, lowering her voice to imitate DiNozzo. "You are just jealous because I get a few days off and you have to deal with Gibbs alone." Switching back to her own voice, she replied. "Well, yes, that will be a problem, especially since Agent Gracy is in the room next to you. He is very concerned about her. I think you were right, Tony, about there being something between them." She stopped her faux-dialogue and sighed. On impulse, she leaned forward, gently pressing her lips to his forehead. "Get better, Tony," she commanded in a whisper, her face still inches from his. "I do not think I can not do this without you." She slid back in the chair, her fingers still resting on his cool jaw. She would sit there and wait for him to wake up, however long it took.


	22. Chapter 22

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 21**

* * *

Agent Gibbs slowed his car to only twice the posted speed limit as he entered the residential development; not quite a gated community, but close. His eyebrows rose slightly at the well-designed townhouses lining the street as he searched for the right house number. Apparently, Army-physicians-turned-CID-agents made more money than he realized.

He finally found the right building and parked his car on the street, realizing as he headed to the doorway that it wasn't the same address as the one in the Scott Gracy CID file; Sonja must have moved the kids after his death. Not that he could blame her, considering the circumstances. This place was also closer to Ft. Belvoir--where CID headquarters were located--and the schools were good, so he had to admit that she had plenty of reasons to make the move.

After ringing the doorbell of the stylish townhouse, he noticed the small gold star in the living room window, bringing a sad smile to his face—it didn't take a military background to recognize the sign that a loved one had died in combat. Before he could dwell on that, the door opened a crack, stopped by the chain. "Hello?" a mousy-looking blond twenty-something asked. He guessed it was Angelika, the 'au pair'.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," he replied, flipping out his credentials for her to see. She studied them for a second before closing the door, opening it again without the chain.

"_Artzin_ Gracy called to say to expect you," Angelika explained, her voice laced with a thick German accent. "She told me to open the door to you and only you." He nodded slightly, not wanting to explain—or demonstrate—that if he had really wanted to get in or do anybody inside harm, the chain would have done little to stop him.

"She said it was your evening off?" he asked, hoping that she would get the hint and get the kids ready to go with him to the hospital.

As if on cue, a small boy appeared from the kitchen, a slice of apple in hand. He stopped when he caught sight of Gibbs, tilting his head, a puzzled expression on his face. "Who're you?" he asked.

Angelika opened her mouth to respond, but Gibbs silenced her with a look. Instead, he walked up to the boy and knelt down so they were roughly eye level. He pulled out his badge and showed it to him. "I'm Agent Gibbs," he said. "I work with your mother. She had me come here to pick you and take you to see her."

The boy fingered the badge, but didn't respond. "Mom taught him not to talk to strangers," a new voice said from the hallway. Gibbs turned to find himself face to face with a very serious-looking seven-year-old. She impatiently pushed a lock of black hair from her face, only to have it fall right back where it was, as often happens with little girls. Despite having her father's coloring—black hair, deep blue eyes, caramel-colored skin—her features were like a young version of Sonja Gracy's, down to the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones.

"That's good advice," he finally said. He turned the badge so she could see it. "But I'm a federal agent, which is like a police officer—"

"I know what a federal agent is," Maddie replied indignantly, her hands fisted at her small hips. "I'm not an idiot."

He smiled slightly at her words. He remembered that about young girls—their need to act older than they are, so eager to grow up. But he knew that this one had had a rough introduction to being grown up, and that there would always be a piece of her childhood that she'd be missing. "I didn't mean to imply that you were," he told her. "Your mother wanted me to come and pick you up."

Maddie frowned at his explanation. "Why isn't she here?"

"She's in the hospital," he said gently. "She's going to have to be there overnight, but she'll be okay."

"Was she shot?" Gibbs turned his head quickly back to Nate to see his eyes wide with wonder.

"No," Gibbs said quickly. "She jumped in the ocean to save another agent, and that made her really cold."

"Was the other agent swimming without a buddy?" Nate asked. "Mommy said we can never swim without a buddy."

"Something like that," Gibbs said with a smile. "But right now, I need you to go to your room and pack some clothes for the next few days."

Nate frowned. "I don't know how to pack," he informed the NCIS agent.

"I can help you," Gibbs informed him. He turned to Maddie. "Do you need any help?" She just frowned and quickly shook her head before running up the stairs toward her room.

"Come on," Nate said impatiently, slipping his hand in Gibbs' and tugging. "My room is upstairs. I want you to see." His small hand still latched onto Gibbs, he led the special agent up the stairs.

The room looked like a typical bedroom of a four-year-old boy, complete with the lofted bed, dinosaur bedspread, and pile of Lego's in the corner. "My suitcase is up there," Nate informed him, pointing at the top shelf of the closet. It had been awhile since Gibbs had helped a child pack for an overnight trip, but it didn't take long for it to come back to him. It certainly didn't hurt that Nate Gracy was a pretty smart and energetic kid, running around the room gathering things that Gibbs told him he needed as if it was a game.

His eyes fell on a framed photograph on the tiny pre-school sized desk under the bed, and he reached down to pick it up. "That's my dad," Nate said matter-of-factly. "He's dead."

"I know," Gibbs said quietly as he studied the picture. Major Gracy had been in his Army Combat Uniform, his beret securely in place, the wide grin on his face directed at his two-year-old son, held high in the air. "It looks like he was a good dad."

Nate shrugged a small shoulder. "I don't remember him," he informed Gibbs.

"He used to read you stories," Maddie said from the open doorway, a glare directed at her little brother, upset that he didn't remember their father. "I'm ready to go," she said indignantly as she turned the glare toward Gibbs and adjusted the straps of her backpack.

"Do you have your toothbrush?" Gibbs asked, remembering that it was usually the one thing Kelly forgot to pack whenever she was going anywhere. Maddie flushed slightly and headed for the bathroom without a word.

"I forgot my book," Nate said suddenly. He proceeded to run down the stairs and into the living room. Gibbs waited for Maddie to emerge with her toothbrush before they followed.

The boy held up two books, a thin one with bright colors and large letters, and a larger one that made Gibbs frown; he was pretty sure that wasn't English on the cover. "Mom reads us stories in German," Maddie informed him, noting the expression on his face. She again pushed her hair behind her ear. "We should get the car seats from Angelika's car before we go."

"Right," Gibbs agreed. "Can you guys get those while I grab some clothes for your mother?" Nate nodded eagerly before running for the attached garage. Maddie gave an exasperated sigh, but followed her brother without further complaint.

After tossing a few sets of warm clothes and other necessities in a bag for Gracy, Gibbs returned to the living room to wait for the kids. Like the rest of the house, it was tastefully decorated, a mix of the personal and impersonal. One of the personal touches was above the mantel, what his Marine buddies would tongue-in-cheek refer to as the 'widow's wall'. It had the three requisite framed items: trifold flag in the middle, collection of medals on one side, wedding picture on the other. From the looks of it, the college sweethearts were married on a beach, maybe in her home state of Florida. Gibbs wondered how long it took the male Second Lieutenant Gracy to get the sand from his dress uniform. "We're ready," Maddie announced, breaking his reverie.

"Good," he said, turning back to face the children. He grabbed the car seats and headed for the door, the kids bidding goodbye to their nanny as they left.

---

Agent Tony DiNozzo knew he was in a hospital without even having to open his eyes. There was just something hospitals: the smell, the sounds, the feeling of impending doom. What he didn't know was what he was doing there.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the brightness of the room, despite the dimmed lights. "Tony?" Ah, a familiar voice.

He turned his head to find himself face to face with his partner. "Hey," he managed, his voice hoarse. Even that one syllable was excruciating for him, and he broke out in a series of coughs that left his whole body shaking. After he felt he could trust his voice again, he said, "My throat's a bit dry. Does this hospital give out those tasty ice chips?"

For some reason, Ziva looked amused by that comment, more so than she should have been. "I do not think ice is what your body needs right now," she informed him.

He frowned, but didn't feel like he had the energy to get her to explain. Instead, he glanced around the room, trying to see if he could determine why he was in the intensive care unit. When nothing came to mind, he gave up and turned back to Ziva. "So what was it this time?" he asked with a sigh. "I've already had the plague, so…smallpox? Gunshot? One too many slaps to the back of the head?"

She smiled at that last one before answering. "Hypothermia."

Ah. That explained her comment about ice chips. He glanced down at his body, realizing for the first time that he was covered in blankets and heating pads. "I guess that explains why I'm dressed like an extra from _Ice Station Zebra_." At her blank look, he elaborated, "1968 film, produced by John Sturges and starring Rock Hudson. It's an adaptation of the Alistair McLean novel—"

He stopped abruptly at her hand clamped over his mouth. "I do not care about another one of your movies, Tony."

He gave her a weak grin as she removed her hand. He could already feel himself drifting back off to sleep, his eyelids growing heavy. "I should go tell Gibbs that you are awake," she said, rising from the chair. He was going to reply that he didn't think his current state qualified as 'awake', but decided it wasn't worth the effort. He was pretty sure he was already dreaming when he felt her soft lips brush against his forehead.


	23. Chapter 23

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 23**

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Please, keep them coming. And just for the record, an 'autograft anterior cruciate ligament reconstruction with meniscectomy' is a knee surgery to correct an 'unhappy triad' (yes, that's the name of the injury). I don't know what kind of knee injury Tony had in college, but that is a possibility. Oh, and our hospital is technicially The Ohio State University Medical Center, but we just call it 'OSU'. Read and you'll understand._

* * *

Officer Ziva David stepped out of Tony's room to find herself facing a little girl sitting in one of the row of chairs in front of the room, long dark hair mostly obscuring her features as she leaned forward to read a book, a stuffed dog under her arm. Instantly able to put two and two together, Ziva diverted from her original destination of Gracy's room to sit next to the girl. "Hello," she said. "I am Officer Ziva David."

The girl looked over at the credentials Ziva revealed before raising her eyes to meet Ziva's. "Madeline Noelle Gracy," she replied, her tone serious and almost solemn.

"That is a nice name."

Maddie shrugged a shoulder, returning her attention to her book. "My birthday is Christmas, so my dad wanted my name to be Noelle, but my mom said that that would be corny, so it's my middle name instead." She quickly glanced back at Ziva, then back down to the book on her lap. "It's still corny. I like your name."

"Thank you." When it became obvious that Maddie wasn't going to be offering any more information, Ziva tried again. "What is your dog's name?"

The girl glanced over at her stuffed animal, giving it a small squeeze before replying, "Chaleb."

"Caleb?"

Maddie shook her head. "Cha-leb," she said, separating the syllables. Ziva arched an eyebrow.

"That is Arabic for 'dog'," she informed her. Maddie nodded.

"I know. That's what my dad told me when he sent it from Iraq for my first day of kindergarten. He said that's how they would say it in Iraq, but they would say it differently in Jordan."

Remembering what Gracy had said about her mother-in-law being Jordanian, Ziva switched to Arabic. "Do you speak Arabic?"

Maddie shook her head again. "Not really," she replied in English. "My dad sometimes talked in Arabic, and _Jadda_ sometimes says stuff in Arabic when she calls. She lives in Texas."

"I see," Ziva murmured. After another pause, she asked, "Are you waiting to see your mother?"

Maddie shrugged a single shoulder again. In the back of her mind, Ziva wondered if it was an avoidance mechanism she picked up before or after her father was killed. "Nate said he had to go to the bathroom, so Agent Gibbs went with him."

While that was likely true, Ziva didn't see what it had to do with Agent Gracy. "You do not have to wait for your brother. You can go in there. It is alright."

"She's sleeping."

"I am sure she would want you to wake her."

Another single-shoulder shrug. "I'll just wait for Nate and Agent Gibbs."

Having read the case file on Major Gracy's death, Ziva knew about his autopsy and what part Maddie played in it. Had she been a child psychologist of some sort, she would spout theories about Maddie not wanting to be alone with her mother because of some association between her mother and her father's death, or guilt that she played a part in that drama fifteen months ago, or fear that something similar would happen to her mother if the 'good guys' weren't around to protect them. But Ziva wasn't a child psychologist; she was a Mossad officer who was born and raised in Israel, where children watching their parents die or seeing the results of senseless violence happened too frequently. So instead of offering any empty words for sympathy or support, she merely sat with Madeline Noelle Gracy and waited for Gibbs to return with her brother.

* * *

Agent Gibbs glanced over at Officer David as she stepped out in the hall from DiNozzo's room. "He asleep again?" he asked quietly. She shook her head.

"Abby and McGee are in with him." He nodded, bringing his coffee cup to his lips as he lapsed into silence. Ziva followed his line of sight through the open curtain into Gracy's room, where she was sitting up in bed, the Bair hugger replaced by tight, thick thermal clothes, likely containing electric heating units. Her son was perched on her lap, leaning against her chest, his dark red hair tousled, blue eyes focused on the book in his mother's hands. Maddie was curled up at Sonja's side, resting under her arm, her long dark hair now controlled in a tight French braid. Agent Gracy was smiling, the first real smile Ziva had seen from her, as she read from that thick book Nate had brought from the house. Ziva tilted her head slightly as she listened, a small smile on her face. "I love this story," she said after a moment. "My mother used to read it to us."

"In German?"

"Sometimes," she acknowledged. They continued to stand there in silence before Gibbs spoke again.

"Maddie and Nate are staying with me tonight. I need someone to stay here to watch over Gracy and DiNozzo."

Ziva nodded. "I was planning on staying anyway," she said. She paused, knowing that Gibbs wouldn't like what she had to say. "With all due respect, Gibbs—"

"I spent enough years in the Corps to know that no good conversation has ever started with those words." He had turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Well? Let's have it, Officer David."

"I just think that maybe you have become too close to this case. You are not being objective."

"So you think I should leave a four-year-old and seven-year-old alone in their house tonight, while their mother is in the ICU?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "I was not referring to the children. I think it is admirable, that you are letting them—"

"The point, Ziva."

"Right. I think that you have let your feelings for Agent Gracy fog your judgment." She was speaking quickly, not letting him interrupt. "I know you have this…connection. She had this tragic family event, and because of your own family tragedy, you think you understand everything that she is going through, and you think that she is above suspicion, but you still do not know anything about this woman. If this was anybody but a widow with small children, you would have been wary of her from the first day. You yourself always say that there is no such thing as coincidence, yet you do not see a problem with the fact that someone who is copying her late husband's murder kills a Marine the second day she is with the team?"

Gibbs watched her as she exhausted her argument, then calmly took a sip of coffee before answering. "She didn't have anything to do with these murders," he finally said. Ziva threw her hands in the air.

"And what is your proof, Gibbs? Your gut? I know that that is enough evidence for you, but I doubt it would stand in a courtroom."

"Who said anything about court?" Gibbs asked rhetorically.

"You did not answer the question."

"Didn't see the need to." He turned to move away, but she grabbed his arm to stop him. "Ziva, you didn't seem to think she had anything to do with this earlier today—"

"Earlier today I was distracted by Tony being in a coma in the ER and trying to remember how to spell 'autograft anterior cruciate ligament reconstruction with meniscectomy' and the hospital it was performed in."

"'OSU' only has three letters, Ziva. It's not that difficult to spell." She rolled her eyes at his attempts to distract her from the point.

"Is this not the reason why you have rules about dating co-workers?" she asked, her voice low. "Because emotions get in the way of doing your job?"

His eyebrows rose, an unreadable expression on his face. "_You're_ lecturing _me_ about emotions getting in the way of doing your job? Is that why you followed my orders not to engage those Marines so perfectly?" She flushed, not needing the reminder of how she let her fear for Tony's safety take precedence over everything else in that mock-warehouse.

"She was the only person to see her husband's body before she performed the autopsy, Gibbs. There is only her report to say what condition his body had been in prior to that point, and the fact that our two bodies were exactly the same as that report can not be a coincidence."

"They weren't exact," he informed her, not getting into the details of the photo of Captain Hawke's chest that Abby had enhanced. He shook his head slowly. "Trust me, Ziva, she didn't have anything to do with this."

"You keep saying that, but you have not told me why I should trust you."

"Have I let you down before?"

"Do you really want an answer to that?" She flushed slightly at her bitten retort, but Gibbs didn't say anything about it, knowing exactly what she was referring to. Instead, he turned back to the Gracy family, watching Nate rub his eyes tiredly. Maddie was wearing that same solemn expression she had worn since he arrived at the townhouse hours before, and likely for the entire year before that.

"I don't think I could explain it," Gibbs finally said. "You wouldn't understand."

"Why do people keep saying that to me?" Ziva asked with a frown. "Is it because I am not American? Or is this some sort of military thing, some way of understanding that you believe is universal among troops? Because I have served in the military. Just because it was not the _United States_ military—"

"No," Gibbs interrupted, watching Gracy grin as she tickled Nate's belly, his giggles floating out into the hallway. Her other hand was gently squeezing her daughter's shoulder, shooting her an occasional grin. "It's because you're not a parent."


	24. Chapter 24

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 24**

* * *

"You look like hell." Ziva David almost jumped at the unexpected voice, thinking she had been the only one awake in the dimmed ICU room. She had been staring at the back wall, her gaze unfocused as she replayed her conversation with Gibbs earlier that night, dwelling on what he could have meant when he said she didn't understand because she didn't have children. If he meant to imply that no parent could do anything to hurt their children—well, she had seen the aftermath of suicide bombers who proved that theory wrong.

She had completely missed any sign of Tony DiNozzo waking, and when she turned to face him, she found him staring at her with that concerned/understanding/analyzing expression she had only seen on his face before when she had done something to almost get herself or somebody else killed. He had that look in his eyes for almost a week after she killed a murderer while undercover. "I am fine," she countered. "You are the one in the hospital."

He gave her a trademark smirk. "And yet you're the one who looks like you haven't slept in a week."

"You have done enough sleeping for the both us," she shot back, hoping that the lace of worry she heard in her voice was only her imagination. If he had heard it, he gave no indication as he grin widened.

"You know me," he said. "I need my beauty sleep."

Taking the comment for the light-hearted fish for a compliment—or maybe request for things to be normal between them—that it was, she gave him a teasing grin and patted his cheek affectionately. "You were plenty beautiful to begin with. Now I believe you are out-doing it."

"Over," he corrected, the glint in his eye telling her that he knew she flubbed that one up on purpose. "Over-doing it, not out-doing." She smiled back and shrugged. "You can get some sleep, too, you know."

"I am on guard duty," she informed him. He snorted lightly.

"In a hospital staffed by sailors and guarded by Marines. I think you can relax for a couple of minutes."

"Whoever is responsible for these cases captured, tortured, and killed three armed and well-trained officers, Tony," she reminded him. "One in a warzone, and two on secure military bases. If they wanted to do the same to you or Agent Gracy, a few doctors and nurses would not stop them."

He rolled his eyes; they both knew that her reluctance to get some sleep had less to do with concern about his and Gracy's safety—neither of which was the type of target their current perps were after—but more about her unwillingness to let her guard down. He had been unconscious the whole time, but he had heard after the fact that when he went in the water, Gracy dove in to save him and Gibbs chased after the bad guy. The fact that nobody—especially not Ziva—had talked about what she had been doing told him that she wasn't proud of her actions, or inactions, whichever they might have been.

He scooted over in the hospital bed; like Gracy, his bulky Bair hugger had been traded hours before for the electrically-heated garments he now wore. "Get up here," he said, his voice somewhere between a command and resignation.

Ziva looked surprised for a second before she gave a short snort of laughter. "If this is an attempt to get me into bed, you should probably wait until you are medically cleared to handle it."

DiNozzo chuckled in response. "You're exhausted, and that chair doesn't look comfortable. Get up here. It's plenty warm. Besides, where better to watch over me than right next to me?"

"I am supposed to be watching Gracy as well." After a few minutes of considering the consequences, she relented, crawling into the hospital bed with him. He waited for her to adjust her position, molding her trim body to his, her head resting on his shoulder.

He could feel her breath on his cheek for several minutes before she spoke again. "We are going to get in trouble," she said, not sounding terribly concerned. He laughed.

"I don't think the doctors could give any legitimate complaints; after all, we're conserving body heat, right?"

She gave a low, throaty chuckle. "I am sure that 'conserving body heat' is not the only thing contributing to your rising body temperature." Normally, he loved the sexual innuendo, especially when her voice was low and sexy as hell, but he wasn't normally lying on a hospital bed meant for one, her body all but draped over his. _Deep breaths, _he commanded himself. _Think about something else, like...McGee's book. About Agent Tommy and Officer Lisa...damn. _It took him a moment to even regain his voice. Fortunately, she saved him the trouble and spoke first. "I was referring to the trouble from Gibbs."

"Ah," he replied. He thought about that for a moment before saying, "I'm sure he'll understand. You know, the body heat conservation thing."

She didn't respond for a minute. "He is already upset with me," she informed him, her voice suddenly serious.

"What'd you do, insult his boat making skills?"

"I told him he has become too emotionally involved with Agent Gracy and that he has let that keep him from doing his job."

"Wow," DiNozzo said, sounding truly impressed. "That was really dumb."

"Thank you, Tony," she snapped before sighing in defeat. "I know that it was not my brightest move, but I was just trying to make the point that it can not be a coincidence that the bodies started piling up right when she arrived on our team."

"There's no such thing as coincidence," DiNozzo recited automatically. He turned to face her and was surprised to find her face less than an inch from his own. He was distracted by that for a moment, having a sudden flashback to a dark closet in a fake warehouse. When he finally regained his senses, he continued, "You're only looking at one possibility. What if someone is after her?"

She frowned at his explanation. "And is trying to get at her by killing her husband's associates in a fashion similar to her husband's deaths?"

He shrugged the one shoulder she wasn't occupying. "And how would _you_ get a former medical examiner with an expertise in lacerations to the crime scene where you're lurking with a loaded gun?" She didn't have an answer to that one. "Besides, what motive would _she_ have for killing her husband's associates?"

"To cover over the true events of her husband's death," Ziva replied automatically. "After all, since she was the only one who truly knew the state of his body when she claimed he arrived back in the States—"

"Okay, first of all, it's cover _up_, not cover _over_," Tony interrupted. "And second, now you're getting ridiculous. I don't even have a movie reference for this one, because if someone tried to make it a movie, no one would believe it. What motive could she possibly have for orchestrating her husband's death, or at the very least, cover for the person who did?"

"I do not know, Tony, and that was my point to Gibbs," Ziva snapped, glaring at him with full force. DiNozzo was quickly discovering that an all-out argument with Ziva in bed wasn't nearly as good in reality as it had been in his fantasies. Of course, those fantasies rarely involved electric garments or heart rate monitors on the walls. "If he had not become so…_enthralled_, with Agent Gracy, he would have treated her like any other wife of a victim, and interrogated her about their finances or if one was having an affair or why anybody would want to kill him. But he did not do that, so we do not know the answers to those questions. All we truly know about Agent Gracy is what is in her personnel file, and all we know of Major Gracy's death is what is in his CID case file. That is not much to go on."

DiNozzo stared at her for a moment, meeting her gaze unflinchingly, before he finally spoke. "I trust Gibbs' gut," he finally said. "If Gibbs says she had nothing to do with this, she had nothing to do with this."

"I can not believe that you of all people would still be able to trust him, after what he has shown himself capable of doing." They continued to stare at each other for a moment, her still on her elbow, leaning over him, a challenging look in her eyes.

Tony was the first to relent with a long sigh. "Ziva, I'm far too tired to have this discussion right now. Can we pick this up when I'm not, you know, in the Intensive Care Unit?"

A look of horror crossed her face as she remembered where they were. "Tony, I am sorry—"

"Don't apologize," he said, an involuntary smile belying his stern words. "Just calm down and lie down. You're making me fear for my life. Well, more than usual." She did so without complaint, and for a few minutes, he just enjoyed the feeling of her in his arms—well, with her lying on one arm with the other attached to a blood pressure cuff and something monitoring his body temperature, but he'd take what he could get. "And just so you know, Ziva, it's not just Gibbs' gut I'm trusting," he said, wishing he could just drop it, but having one more thing to say. His hand had worked its way to her back, absently playing with her hair. "She saved my life. She didn't have to do that, and she's in the ICU because she did, but she _did_. That has to mean something."

She glanced up to look at him, seeing the serious expression on his face, and nodded slightly before returning her head to his shoulder. "Gibbs said he could not explain why he did not think Gracy was involved," Ziva finally said, her voice slightly muffled by his neck. "He said I would not understand because I am not a parent."

"Maybe he's right."

"Parents are not perfect people, Tony."

He snorted. "Believe me, you don't need to tell me that." They continued to lie in silence before she spoke again.

"Her children were here. They are staying with Gibbs tonight."

He smiled slightly at the thought of two little kids in Gibbs' basement, sanding a boat and doing shots of Johnny Walker or Jim Beam or whatever it was that he kept down there. Well, sanding a boat, at least—unlike DiNozzo, Gibbs knew what to do with children. "And let me guess—two adorable little red-headed kids bidding their mother goodnight. Oh! I bet they were singing their goodnights in German like in the cocktail party scene in—"

"_Sound of Music_," Ziva finished. "I have seen that one."

"Figures that _that'll_ the one you've seen," DiNozzo muttered. Ziva smiled slightly.

"Nate's hair is red. Well, a very dark red," she said, referring to his earlier comment. "Maddie's hair is black. They are a quarter Jordanian, after all. And Agent Gracy read them a bedtime story in German, but most of their conversations were in English. And there was no singing."

"That's too bad," he murmured, feeling suddenly drained after the long conversation.

"Maybe they will be back tomorrow morning. You can ask them to sing then."

"Yeah, maybe," he said, his eyes fluttering closed. "G'night, Ziva."

She watched as his eyes finally slid shut, his breathing becoming smooth and even. "_Shalom_, Tony," she whispered in response. She adjusted her head on his shoulder and slid her arm around his waist, waiting for her exhaustion to take over.


	25. Chapter 25

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 25**

* * *

Agent Sonja Gracy paused just outside the drawn curtain of the ICU cubicle, not sure if she should proceed. When a low snore told her that the room's occupant was asleep, she gently moved the curtain aside and stepped in.

She was at the monitor with the vital signs, scrolling through the commands to get the display of the twenty-four hour ranges, when she nearly jumped in surprise. "Hey," she heard a quiet voice from the bed say.

She spun toward the source to find Agent Tony DiNozzo watching her. "_Scheisse_, DiNozzo, you—"

"Shh," he whispered, his finger to his lips. He tilted his head slightly. "She just fell asleep about an hour ago. At least, that's when her snoring woke me up."

Her eyes just adjusting to the dim room, Gracy could see Officer Ziva David curled up under the blanket next to DiNozzo, her dark curls running over his arm. If DiNozzo was upset at being caught with her in his bed, he hid it well; in fact, he seemed comfortable with the situation, as if it were completely natural and familiar. Gracy felt a pang of jealousy; it had been too long since she experienced that kind of intimacy. One year, six months, two weeks, and five days, in fact, since Scott had gotten out of bed next to her, dressed in his ACUs, kissed their children goodbye, and headed for Iraq. "What are you doing, anyway?"

Deciding that if DiNozzo wasn't bothered by David sleeping in his bed, Gracy wasn't going to be either, she replied, "I offered the medical student a venti triple-shot from Starbucks and breakfast if he skipped your room for pre-rounds this morning. I told him I'd get your overnight vitals." She shrugged. "The last thing you needed was to be woken by a med student asking inane questions about how you're feeling after he wakes you up at 0530."

He chuckled lightly, careful not to disturb the sleeping Mossad officer next to him. "I'm a bit concerned that Navy ensigns can be bribed with as little as coffee and breakfast."

She grinned. "That's because you've never been a fourth year medical student on an ICU rotation. For the first two days, it's really cool, the feeling that you have control over life and death and your action—or inaction—really makes a difference. Then, after that, you realize you'd be willing to pull the plug on your own mother if it means another five minutes to sleep or eat."

He nodded. "Kinda like a stakeout," he remarked. "Only in stakeout, you'd _shoot_ your own mother just to alleviate the boredom. So, I take it your varsity collegiate sport was swimming?"

She glanced down at her Texas A&M Varsity Swimming and Diving sweatshirt that Gibbs had brought from her house, which she had tossed over the ultra-thin thermal clothes that had replaced the electric garments when her temperature reached an appropriate degree—ultra-thin thermal clothes that she was strangely proud to discover had been developed by _Army_ researchers during the Cold War. "It's no wonder you're senior field agent, with those kind of observation skills."

He grinned. He should have realized it earlier. Not only did she have the tall, lean build of a swimmer, with the required broad shoulders and long torso, she also had the intensity. Despite their lack of recognition in the national sports scene—with the exception of a couple of weeks every four years for the Olympics—swimmers were hard-core athletes, practicing for hours a day, lifting weights a couple of times a week, with no off-season. They were a favorite for basketball players to hit on in the weight room; of course, that might have more to do with the fact that they were comfortable wearing only tiny scraps of fabric without care for the audience… He shook his head quickly as if to get his mind back on track. "I was referring to the mad Baywatch skills yesterday, actually."

Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Would you believe me if I told you I really was a Baywatch girl?" She chuckled at his surprised expression. "I'm kidding. Baywatch was in California…I think. I grew up in southern Florida. I was a beach patrol guard until I left for college, and then I worked a couple of shifts a week as a lifeguard during the school year for extra cash, so the lifeguarding thing was really more of a reflex. Although I don't remember the water being so damned cold during my last rescue."

They both smiled at that, although DiNozzo couldn't help but notice that Gracy's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, thanks," DiNozzo said sincerely. "Reflex or not, that was a really brave thing to do, especially considering you have two kids to go home to."

She waved the platitudes aside. "I didn't exactly have time to consider my children before deciding that if I didn't get in to get you out, nobody would be able to—well, not alive, anyway. Really, Tony, you don't have to thank me. You would have done the same thing."

He chuckled, almost nervously. "I think you're overestimating my altruistic qualities."

"Actually, I'm impressed you know what 'altruistic' means."

DiNozzo decided to let that one slide. "I heard your kids were around last night."

She smiled slightly at the mention of her children. "Sorry you missed seeing them. They should be here again in a couple of hours when Gibbs comes by to pick me up."

He brightened at that. "We're being discharged today?"

"What's this 'we'?" she asked. "_I'm_ being discharged. _You're_ going to be observed for at least another day."

"What? Why?"

"Because I've never had the plague," she replied simply. "That, and my temperature was up to 97 before I made the intern take out the pulmonary catheter probe, and yours still reads 94." She gave him an exaggerated-thoughtful expression. "Odd, considering your methods of conserving body temperature."

"It's because she's completely cold inside," DiNozzo replied, not missing a beat. "You know, the whole unemotional Mossad spy thing."

"I am awake, Tony," Ziva commented dryly, her voice still hoarse from sleep, her eyes still closed.

"Good luck with that, DiNozzo," Gracy said, smiling slightly as she rose from her chair and headed back to her own room. That was another thing she missed: being close enough to another person, knowing all of their quirks and likes and dislikes, to be able to joke around like that.

* * *

Maddie Gracy had her attention focused on the book in her lap when Agent Gibbs glanced in his rearview mirror, which was hardly unusual; since he had picked her and Nate up from their townhouse the day before, she had spent most of her time reading. After their stop by Bethesda, he had taken the Gracy kids back to his place. Nate had been immediately fascinated by the boat in the basement, especially after Gibbs taught him how to sand, but Maddie had remained perched on one of the lower steps, her book on her lap and her eyes down. He had caught a few almost wistful glances as she realized that her brother was having fun without her. Gibbs had to invent some reason why he specifically needed her help, for which she feigned reluctance and gave a rather large, exasperated sigh, but she did put her book aside to work on the boat. If she regretted that action, she hid it well.

Despite that moment of creative "parenting", he realized upon waking that it had been far too many years since there were children in the house, and he was woefully unprepared. He somehow managed to find some pancake mix in the back of his under-stocked pantry, which the expiration date assured him was still good, and discovered that he still knew how to make pancakes. Fortunately, being kids, they didn't realize that pancakes were one of the easiest breakfasts to make, and they both—well, Nate more than Maddie—seemed excited by the "special" breakfast of pancakes and orange juice. He almost slipped up and offered them coffee.

"Agent Gibbs?" His reverie was broken by the small yet serious voice. He glanced in the mirror again to see Maddie no longer looking at her book, now studying him. "Are you and my mom working on a case?"

"And Agent DiNozzo and Officer David," Gibbs added with a nod.

"Are the bad guys after you?" He frowned at her phrasing, wondering if Gracy had mentioned something about the case, maybe to warn her—no, she wouldn't have done that. She was too concerned about her daughter's already fragile state to even hint that the man who killed Major Gracy was still out there and now killing again.

Her statement made more sense when he remembered how simple the world was for children; everything was right or wrong, black or white, good or bad. The planet was just one big battleground for the warring armies: The Good Guys and The Bad Guys, an idea enforced by endless cartoons of Superman and Batman and whatever other superheroes were on Saturday morning TV these days. "Yeah," he finally said. "But we're going to get them, Maddie. We're stronger and smarter than the bad guys are."

"Do you promise?"

He looked her in the eye through the rearview mirror. "Yeah, Maddie, I promise."

* * *

Abby Sciuto blinked hard a few times, trying to clear her vision and her head. _Not enough Caf-Pow_, she mused, wondering for what had to be the twenty-third time that morning where Gibbs was. Not that she had anything to report, but—. "Oh," she suddenly murmured as her computer beeped. She grabbed for her phone.

The call to the squad room went, not surprisingly, unanswered, as all of her previous calls had been. No surprise there; Tony and Gracy were still hospitalized, which meant that Ziva and Gibbs were probably still there. Still, she had to try.

Thinking that her next attempt would be just as fruitless as the last several times she tried it, she dialed Gibbs' cell phone number. He hadn't been answering that, or his home phone number, or— _"Gibbs."_

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed in response. "Oh my God, I can't believe I actually reached you! I mean, I've been trying to get a hold of you for, like, hours, and you haven't answered any of my calls. I was starting to worry that—"

_"Abby."_

"Right. Sorry. So where are you? I know Tony and Agent Gracy are still in the hospital, and you gave Ziva guard duty, so I thought you would have been here all night—"

_"Maddie and Nate were at my house last night, Abs. I'm on my way to take them to Bethesda now."_

"You answered the phone when you have children in the car?" Her tone had changed from slightly concerned to upset. "I would ask if you're using a Bluetooth, but since you haven't even figured out how to work voicemail yet, I figure hands-free technology is at least fifteen years in your future. Of course, by then, we won't even have cell phones anymore, just little implants in our brains that lets us communicate directly with another person—"

_"Abby, why are you calling?"_

"Gibbs, I hope you're not trying to distract me from telling you how irresponsible it is to be talking on a cell phone while driving."

_"You called me."_

"Oh! That's right." Abby shook her head quickly, amazed at how quickly she could get off track when she was going on very little sleep and not enough caffeine. "The fingerprint from your mystery shooter at Norfolk? I got a hit."


	26. Chapter 26

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 26**

_A/N: So, I was going to tell you who the fingerprint belonged to but...you're going to have to wait another day. Sorry. Except I'm not really sorry. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter._

* * *

Sonja Gracy raised her eyebrows in surprise as she caught sight of Agent Gibbs rounding the corner toward her room: Gibbs, one arm supporting her son at his hip, the other carrying a tray with five large coffee cups. "Good morning," she said, still blinking in surprise. "I take it he fell asleep in the car?"

"He _always_ falls asleep in the car," Maddie replied indignantly as she followed Gibbs and Nate into the room. Gibbs smiled thinly as he lowered Nate to the floor before handing her a cup. He stepped out to continue his coffee delivery service.

"I made you a card," Nate said proudly, holding out a folded piece of what looked like old, feeder-type printer paper, decorated with ballpoint pen. He glanced guiltily over to his sister, who was glaring at him. "Maddie helped."

"Agent Gibbs had to help me with some of the spelling," she admitted, leaning forward to get a better look at the card. "But he didn't know how to spell in German, so I had to guess how to spell _'Wie lieben dich.'_"

Gracy had to smile at her daughter's attempt. "Good job," she said, mentally reminding herself to spend more time teaching her kids to read and write German.

"Is DiNozzo allowed to drink coffee yet?" Gibbs asked from the door to her ICU room, the coffee cup in question in his hand. Ziva David was standing right behind him, sipping from her own cup and looking almost well-rested.

"Probably not," Gracy replied with a frown. "But you could always—"

"Just means more for me," Gibbs interrupted before she could say that they could ignore the rules and give Tony his coffee. "Why did you have me get a triple shot mocha?"

"Oh, that's for Ensign Guggenbiller," she replied, taking the coffee and walking toward the conference room. Gibbs followed her with his eyes, a very puzzled expression on his face.

"Ensign Guggenbiller?" he asked Ziva, who looked amused.

"It is a long story."

"Agent Gibbs? Can we give Agent DiNozzo his card?" Nate asked, his expression serious.

"Well, he did want to meet you," Gracy replied before Gibbs had the chance, reappearing from her very quick coffee-delivering mission.

"Make it fast," Gibbs informed her. "Abby told me we got a hit on the fingerprint." The two kids, not noticing her sudden amazement or how it froze her in place, entered DiNozzo's room without her.

* * *

Tony glanced up as he heard the sound of the curtain being pulled, just in time to see Gibbs say something to Gracy and to see her freeze in response. Whatever it was that was said, though, he had no time to contemplate, as he found himself face-to-face with a very short person with dark red hair, shockingly light blue eyes, and freckles everywhere.

"Hi," he managed in his surprise.

"Hi," the boy replied. "I'm Nate. That's my mom." He half-turned to point at Gracy, who was now looking into the room. She gave DiNozzo a half-smile when she realized he was looking at her.

"Nice to meet you, Nate," Tony finally said, his eyes going from the four-year-old to his older sister. _Blue eyes and freckles,_ he mused, thinking about Ziva's comment about them being part-Jordanian. He wasn't completely sure he was remembering his geography correctly, because he was pretty sure Jordan was somewhere near Israel, and he hadn't heard of many Middle Easterners with blue eyes. Or freckles. Of course, they were also half-German, and Germans _did_ have blue eyes. Still, he caught himself glancing over at Ziva, taking a second to contemplate her dark brown eyes and black hair and wondering if he could imagine her having blue-eyed children. Of course, that required imagining Ziva with children, which just…

His mind snapped back on-topic when he realized Nate was talking to him. "Maddie and I made you a get-well card," he said, sounding excited as he moved even closer to the head of Tony's bed. "See? Maddie wrote all the words, 'cause I can't spell, and she helped me with some of the drawings. Here's you, and Agent Gibbs, and my mom, and Off'cer David, 'cause Agent Gibbs said that if I make a card with you, then Off'cer David has to be in it, too."

"Oh, he did?" Ziva asked from her position near the corner, shooting her boss a quick glare. He ignored her.

"Thank you for the card," Tony finally said, smiling slightly at the words on the inside, realizing Gibbs must have told them to write 'Don't think this gets you a vacation'. "Thank you, too, Maddie."

"You're welcome," she said, her words oddly formal for a seven-year-old. He gave her a wide grin; she looked away in response.

"Agent Gibbs said my mommy went in the water to get you out," Nate continued, oblivious to his sister's discomfort. He had the type of stern expression on his face that Tony had seen on other children as they lectured an adult about something they had been taught. "Mommy says that you should never swim without a buddy, 'cause it could be dangerous."

DiNozzo chuckled, fighting the urge to cough at the sudden discomfort in his throat. _Damn oxygen_, he thought, wishing he could take off that nasal cannula without being scolded by half a dozen doctors and nurses. "I'll be sure to remember that from now on," he said. Nate nodded solemnly.

"You do that," he said, emphasizing his words with a shake of his index finger. DiNozzo had to fight the sudden urge to start gushing about how 'adorable' that was.

"Nate, Maddie," Gracy interjected, still standing in the doorway. "Say goodbye to Agent DiNozzo. It's time for us to get to NCIS." They bid their goodbyes as they headed out of the room. He thought he heard Maddie saying something going to school, but Gracy told her not to worry about that today.

"Ziva," Gibbs said, stopping as they waited for the elevator. "I need you to stay here and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. You haven't taken out any doctors on accident yet, have you?"

"Only three," she replied automatically. "And two were interns, so I believe they do not count."

He couldn't help the twitch of his lips at her dead-panned words. "Oh, and Ziva?" he said, turning to face her before stepping into the elevator. "I'm glad you were able to get some sleep last night. Hope your snoring didn't keep DiNozzo up." He didn't miss her shocked expression just before the elevator doors closed behind him.

* * *

The ride from Bethesda to NCIS was fairly quiet; Nate had fallen asleep again and Maddie was reading her book. Agent Gracy continued to sip at her coffee and wish Gibbs had grabbed her something more professional than a college hoodie and jeans to wear at the office; Gibbs, for his part, drove reasonably close to the speed limit and didn't break more than half a dozen traffic laws the entire drive. Granted, it was a short drive.

Agent Tim McGee was already seated at his desk in the bullpen when the four arrived. As if sensing her temporary confusion about where to put her stuff without even looking at her, Gibbs said, "Use Ziva's desk for now. Elf Lord, can you watch Maddie and Nate for a few minutes so Agent Gracy and I can check in with Abby and Ducky?"

"Uh, sure, Boss, but, uh, I'm already working on the fingerprint," he said quickly. He reached for the remote for the plasma screen, but Gracy was faster.

"Not now," she hissed. She hoped her eyes carried the message she was trying to send: she didn't need her daughter seeing a picture of one of the men who might have been involved in her husband's death, possibly the man who held a gun to Maddie's head while Sonja performed the autopsy.

"Right," he said slowly, drawing back his arm. "I'll, uh, watch the kids and continue to try to track, uh, our suspect while you're downstairs—"

"Thanks, McGee," Gracy called back, already stepping into the elevator. McGee slowly looked up from his computer to see two sets of blue eyes watching him curiously.

"Uh, hi," he said slowly. This was not shaping up to be a great morning.

* * *

Having gotten a better feel for how Gibbs operated in the last few days, Gracy was hardly surprised when he hit the emergency stop button in the elevator on their way down to the lab. What came after that, though, _was_ unexpected.

"Nice house."

She blinked in surprise. "Thank you?"

"It has, what, five bedrooms?"

"Four, actually. The study doesn't technically qualify as a bedroom. No closet." She shrugged. "At least, that's what the realtor told me."

He nodded. "I guess they were paying Army pathologists more than I realized."

She blinked again, frowning as she attempted to process his words. "I got paid a little more than your average O-4 with my years in service, I guess, but that's just because of my specialty pay. It was only about fifteen grand more a year. Why the hell do you care how much I was getting paid?"

He slowly turned to face her. "You were a major, your husband was a major, you have two kids to put through college and who knows what after, and you live in a million dollar townhouse with a live-in French nanny and drive a BMW SVU."

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. Not even giving herself the time to stop and think about what she was doing, she reached up and slapped him across the face with full force. "You _bastard!_" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. "_Du verdammt Arsch!_ It's not enough for you that you have to accuse my husband of folding under torture and giving terrorists information used to kill his friends. I hate, _I hate_ the thought that that could be true, but hell, I'm a doctor, I know what the body can take, I know torture is used because it works, so I can't argue with you, can't tell you that Scott would _never_—." A small sob escaped her throat, but she wasn't done. "There is _no way_ that Scott would sell anyone or anything for anything. _No way_. That million dollar—actually, one point three million dollar, if you're interested—townhouse is mortgaged to the hilt, and that BMW is eight years old, a combination 'congratulations on graduating from medical school' and early baby shower gift from _my parents_, who are German and would never buy a car that wasn't made in Germany." She took a deep breath, her eyes still fixed on him, still furious. "You left the Corps in what? Ninety-one, ninety-two? What was your Serviceman Group Life Insurance then? One hundred fifty, two hundred thousand?"

"Something like that," he replied.

"Yeah, that's what I figure, since it was a hundred in 1983, when Staff Sergeant Nathan Gracy died while guarding the US Embassy in Beirut. Yeah, the one that was blown up. _That_ money went toward Scott's college fund, which _Dr._ Aroob Gracy spent the next ten years adding to, and Scott never had to touch, with his ROTC scholarship and all. My parents also spent some time building up a reasonable college fund for me, which a full-ride swimming scholarship followed by the support of the United States Army kept me from using. Scott and I both grew up solidly middle-class, Gibbs, so when it came time to buy our first place after we got married, we took those two untouched college funds and splurged a little. Then, when his _four hundred thousand dollar_ SGLI check came, and I realized I couldn't live in that place and not have a complete mental breakdown, I sold that place that we splurged on together and moved into the most secure area within commuting distance to base." Her eyes narrowed to a glare, her voice low with barely-contained anger. "But I would give it all back—the townhouse with its state-of-the-art security system, the _Swiss_ nanny, the private schools, the Beemer, _everything_, if I could have my husband back." She reached over and hit the stop button decisively, starting the elevator again. "Don't you _ever _speak another word to me."


	27. Chapter 27

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 27**

* * *

McGee glanced up as the elevator doors opened. "Thank God," he muttered. It had been almost forty minutes since Gibbs and Gracy had left him in the bullpen with Maddie and Nate. Maddie wasn't a problem; the girl had curled up behind Tony's desk with a book and hadn't said a word. Nate, on the other hand, was as much of a terror as a four-year-old boy could be. He would run around until McGee scolded him, then sit still for about thirty seconds before he started asking questions like, where'd my mommy go, or can I have a dollar for the candy machine, or what does this do? McGee would do his best to answer the questions, but then Nate would lose interest and start running around again, which would just start the entire cycle over again.

But now his mother was back. Gracy was first out of the elevator, an angry expression on her face as she stalked toward Ziva's desk. "Nathanael," she called out, her voice leaving little doubt that it was a command. The boy froze in his tracks and sheepishly approached. She said something to him in German, her tone stern. He nodded as she finished, trudging over to DiNozzo's desk and climbing up on the chair. "And Maddie, you need to keep an eye on your brother. People are working very hard here. There can't be kids running around."

The voice floated out from behind the desk. "Okay."

After another five minutes had gone by, McGee couldn't decide if having Gibbs and Gracy back in the bullpen was better or worse than having them gone. Yes, the running around and questions were annoying, but at least they weren't as distracting the heavy tension in the room, Gibbs calmly sipping from a cup of coffee that miraculously appeared out of nowhere, Gracy glaring at her computer screen, her keystrokes angry as she muttered darkly under her breath. He contemplated pulling out his phone to text Abby and ask what had happened down in the lab, but reaching for his phone required extra movement, which he was sure the other two agents would notice and question him about. He almost jumped when something flashed up on his screen.

"Boss, I think I got something," McGee said, his voice excited as he broke the silence. He was temporarily distracted by Nate Gracy giving his sister what sounded like an angry retort in German before emerging from behind Tony's desk in a sprint. Not even hesitating, Gibbs grabbed the boy below the armpits and lifted him to his desk.

"Listen to your mother," he scolded the boy before turning to McGee. "You were saying, Elf Lord?"

"Uh, right," McGee replied, still watching Nate. "Uh, as Abby told you, she identified Afran Musawi from his fingerprints for his background check when he worked at Camp Liberty, and—"

"You just said it, McGee. Abby already told us this."

"Right. Sorry, boss." Abby had also shown them his picture, which after a few tense minutes of Gracy staring at the screen with raw anger, she confirmed as the man who broke into her house fifteen months ago, held a gun to Maddie's head, and demanded that Sonja perform an autopsy on her husband. "Anyway, he entered the country a week ago on his own passport and rented a car and hotel rooms under his own name. At first, I thought he was trying to trick us, but then I asked myself how much someone who worked as a cook at a US base in Iraq would know about electronic tracking—"

"The _point_, McGee!"

"He checked into a hotel in Suitland, Maryland last night," McGee finished quickly. Gracy looked up in alarm.

"The Office of Naval Intelligence is at the National Maritime Intelligence Center in Suitland," she said. "I was running names from Calypso. Lieutenant Ashley Mahida didn't report for duty today."

That was all Gibbs needed to hear. "Let's go," he said grimly, already heading for his desk to retrieve his Sig.

"Mom?" Gracy froze, her weapon halfway to her holster at the sound of her daughter's voice. She looked up slowly to see Maddie standing by DiNozzo's desk, her eyes wide and fixed on Gracy's holster. Although Maddie knew that her mother had a gun and knew how to use it, Gracy had been careful to not let the girl see it. She had enough bad experiences with guns to last awhile, and the last thing she wanted was for Maddie to put her in the same category as Musawi and the other men in their home that night.

"_Mäuschen_," she said gently, "I need to carry this to keep me and Agent Gibbs safe. Do you remember what your father taught you about why we have guns in the house?"

"Are you going to shoot somebody?" Maddie asked, her voice small. Gracy opened her mouth, not sure how to respond.

"Maddie," Gibbs said, bending down in front of the girl and saving Gracy the trouble of an explanation. "Your mother and I and all the other agents always carry a gun when we go to work. Most of the time, they stay in the holster and we don't even think about them, but sometimes, we have to use them to keep ourselves and other people safe." He paused, waiting for her eyes to meet his. "The good guys have guns, too, Maddie. If your mother had her gun with her the night they brought your father in—"

"Gibbs!" Gracy exclaimed, her voice furious. "How _dare _you—"

"She would have shot them and kept me safe," Maddie said, finishing Gibbs' line of thought. She nodded solemnly. "Because my mommy would always keep me safe." Gracy was amazed to see the faintest ghost of a smile cross Maddie's lips. "And my daddy said that Mommy's a really good shot."

* * *

The drive to Suitland was a completely silent one. Agent Gibbs knew he could have turned on the radio to distract from that quiet, but every time he thought about it, his hand squeezed the steering wheel even tighter. The silence was a penance, he knew that, and he was willing to ride it out for as long as it took. Gracy, for her part, was doing nothing to indicate that she was forgiving him for his remarks in the elevator any time soon. She seemed content breaking down her weapon, inspecting it, and reassembling it. The car didn't have a cleaning kit, so he knew that she was just doing that to distract her from the case—or having to speak with him. After her fifth time disassembling the Sig, he wondered if he should say anything, but decided that remaining silent was probably the best option at that point.

His cell phone finally provided the much-needed distraction from the things that were said and the ones that weren't. "Gibbs," he barked into the phone, more harshly than he intended. He listened for a moment, nodding slightly. "You sure? Okay. Thanks, McGee." He snapped the phone closed and turned to the CID agent. "Musawi's rental car was just ticketed on base, outside Building 251. That whole section of base is closed for demolition."

Gracy slammed the clip into her weapon one last time. "Let's go," she said, her voice tight.

"It could be another trap."

She shook her head. "He uses bodies to set traps. Until I see one, I'm going to assume Ashley's still alive." Her eyes were still focused on the windshield. "Ashley was a good kid. Calypso was her first assignment after she completed her Intelligence training. Twenty-three. That's how old she was when she went to Iraq. A twenty-three-year-old ensign, one year out of the Naval Academy. The most junior officer with Calypso by far." She paused, shaking her head slightly. "A lot of the wives didn't care much for her, but Ashley was a good kid. She didn't deserve how they treated her, and she doesn't deserve _this_." She finally turned to face him. "If there's a chance that she's still alive, we _have_ to go. I'd like to have a _living_ patient for once."

He nodded to himself as he pulled up to that abandoned building, a single blue Ford Escape parked in front. "You follow my lead," he ordered as he stopped the car. "Don't do anything unless I tell you to do it."

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically as she opened the car door. She stopped and looked down at his hand, clasped over her arm.

"Be careful," he said, his voice low with meaning.

"I'm always careful," she shot back, angrily shaking off his hand.

"That's funny, because I could have sworn you were in the ICU a few hours ago." She glared at him and barely resisted the temptation to slam the car door closed as she got out.

They made their way silently to the door of Building 251, the one closest to Musawi's rental car. He motioned for her to grab the door, indicating that he would enter first. He felt her right behind him as he entered the large room. "Clear," he said, his eyes and gun having swept the empty main room. He glanced back at Gracy, seeing her standing stiffly, her weapon held tightly in the ready position. "You get the rooms on the right," he said, nodding toward the three doors in that direction. "I'll take the left. Kick the doors in, keep your weapon ready, and _never_ give them time to get away or fire first."

"Got it," she said, her voice hoarse and slightly nervous. He met her gaze and nodded once before he headed to the left, her to the right.

He kicked open the first door a second after she got to her first. "Clear," he heard through his earwig. He repeated the word before heading for his second door. He was halfway there when he heard the distinctive sound of a door being kicked in, followed by a very loud, "Freeze! Federal agents!" He didn't even bother with his door as he ran across the middle space to the second open door on Gracy's side. He was almost there when he heard the gunshot.

* * *

Agent Sonja Gracy quickly scanned the first of her rooms, her eyes and Sig Sauer moving together. "Clear," she spoke into her wrist mic, hearing Gibbs reply the same. She didn't know what this building was before it had been cleared out; probably some sort of storage space, judging by the large area in the middle and the smaller, closet-like rooms to the sides. At least, that's what the rooms on her side looked like—there appeared to be more of the building on Gibbs' side than her own.

On the first glance from the outside, the second room looked exactly like the first. As she would later replay the events in her mind, she would wonder if maybe the lock had been jimmied, the dust just a little bit more unsettled around the floor, the ambience just wrong. As soon as she kicked in the door, time seemed to slow to a crawl, just like in a movie that DiNozzo would probably begin to recite in great detail. Her eyes fell on the cot in the middle of the room, the tiny figure of Lt. Ashley Mahida lying naked, her legs and lower abdomen covered in blood from countless thin cuts. At the sound of the door crashing open, her head raised slightly, her dark eyes wide with fear and alarm. Seeing her move, Gracy felt her heart begin to beat again, the dread that she had been too late ebbing away. She didn't let herself get distracted by her relief, however, because of the man kneeling next to the cot, a Marine K-Bar in his hand and a wicked grin on his face. She recognized him; he wasn't the one who greeted her at her own door and gave her orders as he kept a revolver pointed at Maddie's head. He was the silent one, the one who grabbed the microscope and microtome from some unknown place outside, who stood stoically by the French doors in the dining room, his arms crossed in front of his chest, the glare on his face all but daring her to try to make a run for it, as if it were something she would even consider with her children still in the house.

"Freeze!" she shouted, the words breaking the slow-motion reverie she had found herself in. "Federal agents!" The grin on the man's face turned dark as he adjusted the knife is in his hand, positioning it below Mahida's left breast. Before he got the chance to plunge it in her heart, Gracy fired a single shot, her body frozen as she watched him fall away.

Less than a second had gone by between her shot and her recovery, and she rushed forward, kicking the knife away from the body she didn't have to check to confirm was dead; the round right through the eye ensured that he wouldn't be getting up. "Ashley," she said gently, shrugging out of the third NCIS windbreaker she had worn in two days and draping it over the Navy lieutenant.

"Dr. Gracy?" Lt. Mahida asked groggily.

"Shh," she said gently. Although the cuts were shallow, there were a lot of them, and Gracy knew that she had lost a lot of blood. She turned behind her to call toward Gibbs, finding him right in the door. "She needs an ambulance."

He nodded, his eyes moving past her to the body on the floor. "Maddie was right," he said. "Good shot."

"I was aiming for his shoulder," she said flatly. "It's not Musawi." As if on cue, the sound of a door slamming rang out through the abandoned building, followed by the sound of footprints running.

"Stay here!" Gibbs ordered. He waited until he saw the briefest hint of a nod before he took off.


	28. Chapter 28

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 28**

* * *

Sonja Gracy was going beside herself with worry, both at the state of the twenty-four-year-old Navy lieutenant junior grade in front of her and the former Marine gunnery sergeant who ran off after a potential terrorist and murderer. Since she couldn't do anything about Gibbs, she focused her attention on Mahida.

Her worry increased exponentially when the ambulance arrived before Gibbs returned. "Damn it, Gibbs, where are you? And why is it that going without back-up is suddenly acceptable?" she muttered under her breath as the paramedics focused on getting two large-bore IVs into Mahida's arms. She shivered in the cold of the empty building, knotting her hands together in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. The EMTs had immediately covered the young officer in blankets and handed Gracy her NCIS windbreaker, which was now crumpled uselessly at the CID agent's feet. The inside was stained with blood. Gracy didn't want any more blood on her hands that day.

She brought her wrist to her mouth, about to activate the mic to ask Gibbs for a sitrep, but stopped herself before any words passed her lips, not wanting to distract him in case he was in the middle of something. She lowered her wrist and returned her attention to the work of the paramedics for the second time in two days. She was beginning to feel like a black cloud.

The paramedics were sliding Mahida's gurney into the back of the ambulance when Gibbs finally reappeared, looking a bit scuffed up, as if he had tackled someone to the dirt. Judging by the man he was roughly escorting, arms held behind his back and his face and clothes looking like he just lost a battle with the ground, he had done just that. Gracy found herself frozen in place as she focused on the man's face. Afran Musawi. Somehow, knowing his name didn't make her feel any better.

He gave her a cold smile, the same one he had given to her fifteen months before, standing in the entryway to her Alexandria townhouse. "Dr. Gracy. It is good to see you again."

"I hope you'll forgive me if I don't return the sentiment," she said coldly. _Bastard_, she added in her head.

Musawi kept his eyes on Gracy as Gibbs forcefully jostled his arms to keep him moving. "Do you know what your husband's last words were?" he asked casually.

"Shut up," she commanded, her voice just above a whisper. "Just…shut up."

His cold smile turned into an evil grin. "'_Uhib uki_, Sonja.' That is what he said."

"Shut up," she managed, squeezing her eyes closed, not doubting for a moment that Musawi was telling the truth. Scott had said those words many times over the years. She could remember the first time she had said them back to him.

_"_Uhib uki_, Sonja," Scott Gracy said softly, his forehead resting against hers as they separated from their kiss. Sonja Herzlich opened her eyes to find herself staring right into his eyes. His unnatural blue eyes, dark enough to look black from a distance, but startlingly blue up close. Those were actually the first thing she noticed about him, once she got over how much he annoyed her._

_"_Uhib uki_," she repeated. To her surprise, he laughed. _

_"_Uhib ukato_," he corrected. "A man says _uhib uki_ to a woman. From a woman to a man, it's _uhib ukato_."_

_She sighed in frustration as she kissed him again lightly. "How about this? You can go on saying whatever you want in Arabic. I'll just stick with '_ich liebe dich_.'"_

_He grinned as they separated. "That works with me."_

"Gracy." She blinked away the memory and focused on Gibbs' voice, wondering in the back of her mind how many times he had said her name before it registered. "I need you to stay here and guard the scene until a team arrives. They'll bring you a car. Come right back to NCIS as soon as they release you."

She nodded absently, looking away to avoid one last glance at Musawi as Gibbs stuffed him in the back of the car. She hoped the replacement team arrived soon. This was one interrogation she didn't want to miss.

* * *

Officer Ziva David paused just outside Observation. She had been watching a movie and lounging on Tony's hospital bed—accepting his explanation of it being easier to guard him from his bed now that he was the only patient to guard—when Gibbs called, telling her that they caught Musawi and she should head back to NCIS to watch the interrogation now that Tony was free from danger. She realized just how far out of the loop she had been when she didn't even know who Musawi was or what he had to do with the case.

The door pushed open easily to reveal a single figure standing in the middle of the darkened room. "If you don't mind, Ziva, I'd kinda like to be alone right now," Agent Gracy said without moving.

Ignoring the other agent's words, David continued into the room, stopping less than a foot from Gracy. Instead of watching the interrogation, she kept her attention focused on the CID agent. Her hands were resting on the ledge in front of her. "I did not notice before that you wear your wedding band."

Gracy glanced down at her own hands before removing the platinum band from her left ring finger and transferring it to the right. "They gave it back after I checked out of the hospital," she said. "Fifteen months of wearing it on the right can't erase ten years of having it on the left. Or this case just has me more rattled than I realized."

Ziva nodded slightly before finally giving the interrogation her full attention. "Is that Musawi?"

Gracy sighed. "Ziva…" Her voice trailed off. The Mossad officer again turned to face the other woman, seeing the wet tracks down her cheeks, her face fixed in a forced neutral expression. "Yeah, it's Musawi."

"He killed your husband."

"So he says," Gracy said softly. "I believe him. I believe he killed Hawke and Farver as well, or at least ordered someone else to do it." She was silent for a moment before she added, "And I know he held a gun to Maddie's head and made her spend seven hours watching her mother perform an autopsy on her father."

Ziva turned away from Gracy and focused on what was happening in front of them in Interrogation. Gibbs was leaning over the back of the terrorist's chair, his best 'intimidating interrogator' expression on his face. "Tell me about Louis Farver," he said.

"Oh, come on, Agent…Gibbs, is it? We both know it is not Farver, nor Hawke, nor Mahida that you care about. Major Gracy, that is who you want to know about. My only question is, which Major Gracy is it that you are most interested in?" Ziva saw Gracy visibly flinch at the words. "Yes, Agent Gibbs, I know that you kept dear Dr. Gracy at that storage facility so she would not have to ride back in the same vehicle as myself. I noticed the way you looked at her. I may be a _bad_ man, but I am a man." He shook his head slightly. "You should have seen the way she looked at her husband fifteen months ago. Even dead, she looked at him in a way that she will never look at you. How do you feel about that, Agent Gibbs?"

"Did you kill him?" Gibbs asked coldly. Musawi looked up at him calmly.

"Yes," he said simply. "Would you like the details on how I did it?" When Gibbs didn't respond, he continued, "Very well. His capture was more difficult than I would have liked. He was vastly outnumbered, yet continued to fight. That was very admirable. Not admirable enough for me to spare his life, mind you, but I do appreciate a good fight. Even after he was captured, Major Gracy continued to be uncooperative. It was soon obvious that threatening his life would not get us the information that we required."

"So what did you do then?" Gibbs asked, almost mocking. "Threaten his wife, his children?"

"It is difficult to threaten something that is several thousand miles away, Agent Gibbs," Musawi said calmly. "I simply authorized my men to use…increased force. Perhaps I was not more specific. There is very little Major Gracy could tell us dead."

"What did you want to know?"

Musawi looked at him and rolled his eyes, looking away. "Nice try, Agent Gibbs, but I believe that is information that someone more talented in…interrogation should be asking. We both know you are sending me to your 'Gitmo'. Perhaps I will talk then."

"Why did you let them kill Gracy? Did you get what you needed?" Gibbs backed away from the chair, slowly circling the table. "The names of the other Calypso officers?"

Musawi gave a short laugh, his dark eyes just as cold as before. "I did not need that information from Major Gracy, Agent Gibbs," he said casually. "I already had that information. How did you think I knew Major Gracy was the one to target?"

"So how did you get it?"

"From the one who sent Major Gracy on that mission. The one who had taken special interest in his career since almost the beginning. The one who Major Gracy respected like a father." He looked up at Gibbs, wanting the man's full attention before making his big finish. "Colonel Lars Hauser."


	29. Chapter 29

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 29**

_A/N: There's some profanity here. Okay, a lot. In two different languages. Don't say I didn't warn you._

* * *

Not realizing that he was mimicking Ziva's moments from before, Agent Gibbs paused at the doors to Observation. Unlike Ziva, however, he knew what—or rather, _who_—was on the other side of that door, and his hesitation came from being unsure how welcome his reception would be once he opened it.

Still, he had a job to do, and he wasn't exactly well-known for caring about how other people reacted to his presence. He opened the door, slightly surprised to see both Ziva David and Sonja Gracy standing by the large two-way mirror. "Ziva," he said. "The man said he wanted an experienced interrogator. I think you know what he was talking about. And make sure he knows who he's dealing with."

She smiled, nodding slightly as she made sure that her Star of David charm was visible above her shirt. She appeared in Interrogation a few seconds later. "I don't think this needs to be recorded," Gibbs said to the tech sitting behind the computer. "And why don't you take a break."

"Yes, sir," the man replied, hitting a few keys before he rose from his position.

Gibbs waited for the door to close behind the tech before turning to Gracy. She was still in the exact same position she had been in when he entered, her body stiff, her eyes fixed into the room. "I should apologize," she finally said, still not turning to face him. "I shouldn't have hit you. And I know I told you to question me like you would any victim's wife. I guess I just wasn't prepared for it."

"I didn't come here for an apology." The words might have been gentle if they had been spoken by anyone else. Even considering they came from Gibbs, they didn't sound too harsh.

"No, you didn't," she agreed, her voice dull. "I want to kill him. I want him dead, I want him hurt, and I want to be the one to do it."

"No, you don't," Gibbs said, moving closer to her. They were both facing forward, their shoulders almost touching. "That's not going to get you what you need."

"You killed him," she replied. "The man who killed Shannon and Kelly. You killed him. Did it give you what you needed?"

_In some respects, yes, but not in the way you're looking for_, he thought but didn't vocalize. "You aren't me," he reminded her. "You're a doctor, not a killer."

"I killed a man today."

"You _saved a woman_ today."

"By killing a man," she repeated emphatically, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were red, her cheeks stained with tears, but her expression unnaturally flat. "They teach you how to clean a gun, to break it down and put it back together in less than two minutes, to load it, aim, to fire. They show you the motions and tell you how to use your weapon to save another life, another hundred lives, but never do they teach you what it feels like to take a life." She shook her head, looking away. "I took an oath… Back in medical school, we used to have these ethical discussions. Is it okay to kill a patient if doing so ends their suffering? Does it make a difference if they request it or are too far gone to do so? One of my classmates, a real aristocratic, blue-blood, comes from a long line of doctors _prick_, said once that doctors can't be soldiers, because of the distinct dichotomy of the missions—to save a life, to take a life. We argued, and I just got so mad… It almost came to blows, I was so upset… Scott was still in Intelligence training and I hadn't seen him for months. He would call me, but I never knew when he was going to call, and he sounded a little off whenever we talked, and then this _Arsch_ who didn't know anything about anything has the _nerve_ to talk about the military and what he thinks it means to be in the military and the type of medical care that he felt they deserved and—." She cut herself off and turned back to face Gibbs. "I killed a man today, Gibbs, and I know I did it to save Mahida, but still, I killed a man, and I'll never be erase that, and I don't know if I want to."

She started crying again, and without knowing how it happened, Gibbs found her in his arms again, comforting her as she cried on his shoulder. "Yes, you killed a man today," he finally said, "but you're not a killer. _You are not a killer_. You did what you did to save a life, and you might have to do it again someday, and it'll never get easier, because you're not a killer, and you know that." He held her close, his hand at the back of her head. "It's over now, Sonja. Musawi will get what he deserves. He'll never hurt anyone else again."

"It's not over yet." She pulled back from him, staring him right in the eye with a new intensity. "Colonel Hauser is still out there."

* * *

With no children in the car and on the way toward a suspect who may or may not have an idea that they were coming, Gibbs' driving was up to its usual standards. Gracy didn't seem to care; her body was stiff and angry, her eyes focused forward, as if somehow willing the car to go faster to get them to their destination sooner. Like the ride to Suitland, the car was silent, but this time, it was determination that kept them from speaking, not anger.

As before, they were waved through the gates at Ft. Belvoir, the guards barely glancing at their credentials before Gibbs hit the gas, the car accelerating toward the INSCOM headquarters. He pulled into a space marked "General Officers Only" in front of the building, turning to Gracy as he shut off the car. "You sure you're ready for this?"

She turned to face him, that same focused intensity still in her eyes. "I've been waiting fifteen months for this, Gibbs," she said. "Don't you even _think_ about telling me to stay in the car."

He couldn't help but smile slightly. "As if you'd listen," he replied, stepping out of the car. "Let's go."

They flashed their credentials again at the guards just inside the building before heading up to Colonel Hauser's office. "Agent Gibbs, Major Gracy," the surprised secretary said, half-rising from her chair. Gracy flinched at the address, but didn't comment on it. "I, uh, I didn't know we were to be expecting you."

"You weren't," Gibbs replied shortly. "Is he in?"

"Well, yes, but—" He didn't give her a chance to finish as he pushed open the door to Hauser's office.

"Sonja, Agent Gibbs," the Intelligence officer managed, practically mimicking his secretary as he started to get up. "This is unexpected."

"That's the point, Colonel," Gibbs replied. He circled around to the back of Hauser's desk, grabbing his wrists roughly and being careful not to trap any pieces of the colonel's digital camouflage uniform in the handcuffs as he slapped them on, maybe tightening them a bit more than necessary. "You're under arrest."

"What? For what?" Hauser asked, seeming genuinely confused.

"Treason and conspiracy to commit murder to start with," Gibbs said calmly. "I might add some more, depending on how creative I'm feeling."

"Treason? Are you mad?" the colonel asked. Seeking an ally, he turned to Gracy. "Sonja, what is he—"

She interrupted him with a loud slap to the face, making Gibbs grimace as well; he knew how much that hurt. "You _bastard_!" she hissed. "_Sie hässlichen—_You fucking _bastard_!" If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation or the fact that he was somewhat concerned Gracy's next move would be for the replacement Sig in her holster, Gibbs would have laughed at her word choices and seeming disregard for either one language or the other. "You were his commanding officer, but more than that, you were his _friend_! We celebrated Elisabeth's wedding with you, we vacationed in Baden-Württemberg with you, we asked you to be _our son's godparents_, and you _sell_ him to a band of fucking _terrorists_? For what, _Lars_? Money, misplaced national sentiments, safe passage through the enemy's land?"

At some point in Gracy's diatribe, Hauser's face became cold, his voice icy. "_Verpiss dich_, Sonja." Although Gibbs had no idea what the colonel just said, Gracy apparently didn't like it, and wound up to deliver another teeth-jarring slap to the face. "Isn't this police brutality?" he asked as he recovered.

"Looks like restraining an aggressive suspect, if you ask me," Gibbs replied calmly. "I'm a bit interested in hearing the answer, too. In English, if that's not too much trouble."

Hauser glared at each in turn before speaking. "You don't know what it's like," he finally said, spitting venom at Gracy. "You with your fancy upbringing and private schools and exclusive townhouses in Alexandria. You think we have _so much in common_, both of us children of German immigrants, but you have no idea how _different_ we are. My father was a steel engineer who decided to move to Pennsylvania just in time to see the steel industry die away. I grew up in a piss-poor town in the shadow of a dead steel mill, trying to live up to the expectations of a man who resorted to owning a gas station because that was all he could find to do and a woman who did nothing but put up with his disappointment and bake apple strudel. I joined the Army because I wanted to get out of the house and out of their world." His glare increased. "And you! The daughter of college professors, married to the grandson of a goddamn Middle Eastern oil sheik, showing off your fancy cars and fancy home every chance you got. You know what I got for my troubles? A government-wage job, a wife who had to continue working as a kindergarten teacher so we could support our _four daughters_ and send them to school and pay for _four goddamn weddings_. So yeah, I wanted my piece of the _verdammt_ pie, and if I could teach the almighty Gracys a lesson while doing so—"

"A _lesson_?" she asked in disbelief. "You arranged for my husband to be captured, tortured, and _killed_, and you call that a fucking _lesson_?" She shook her head, her expression pained. "I'm the middle of three children, Lars, did you know that? My younger brother is a police officer and my older brother is a high school German teacher. We went to public school growing up, because college professors don't really make as much money as they should. I worked all through high school, and I went to Texas A&M because they offered me a scholarship if I would swim for them." She paused and glared again. "Yeah, Scott's grandfather has money, but how excited do you think a Jordanian oiler would be when his only daughter—his only _child_—tells him thank you for the boarding schools and British medical school, but now I'm going to go and marry this American soldier? Scott never saw one penny of that oil money, and Maddie and Nate aren't going to see any of it, either." She shook her head again. "We were solidly middle-class, Lars; we always were and we always will be, and we were happy with that. We were pretty goddamn _happy_ with that." A few stray tears had fallen on her cheeks, but she ignored them. "So _hau ab_, Lars. Don't count on Irene or your daughters visiting you in Guantanamo." She didn't give him a chance to respond as she turned and calmly left the room.


	30. Chapter 30

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 30**

* * *

For the second time that day, Gibbs and Gracy arrived back at NCIS in separate vehicles after leaving in one. After her—_colorful_, was the only word Gibbs could think to describe it—interrogation of Colonel Hauser, Gracy had taken the Charger back to the Navy Yard while Gibbs waited for a prisoner transport. It wasn't that he thought the Intelligence officer was that much of a threat; mostly, he wanted to embarrass the older man by making him stand outside his own building in handcuffs, and also got the added benefit of keeping him away from Gracy.

She had appeared to have calmed down significantly when he saw her again at NCIS, leaning against the wall next to the elevator after he dropped off Hauser to be taken to the holding cell. Neither said anything as he joined her in front of the elevator, and the silence continued as the doors slid open to grant them entry.

Gracy was the first to break the silence, although she didn't turn to face him. "I should have known something was up. _Tut mir leid, dass das passieren musste. _That's what he said when we talked to him the other day. 'I'm sorry that this had to happen'. Not that he's sorry that it happened, but he's sorry that it _had to happen_." She took a deep breath. "_Verdammt Arsch_," she muttered under her breath.

"I didn't see it, either."

She smiled slightly, knowing that he didn't know German and couldn't have caught the comment. Still, it made her feel a bit better. "I just wanted you to know, I don't usually swear that much. And I _never_ swear in front of the children. In any language."

Gibbs chuckled as he turned to face the CID agent. "It's not like you offended me."

She grinned, a real smile that reached her eyes and lit up her entire face. On an impulse, she wrapped her arms around him in a large hug. "Thank you," she whispered.

He covered up his initial surprise and returned the gesture. "So I take it I'm not a bastard anymore?" he finally asked. She laughed as they separated.

"You're still a bastard."

* * *

"Mommy!" Sonja Gracy looked up in surprise, her expression quickly replaced by one of guilt. In all of the excitement of the day, she had completely forgotten that she had left her children in the squad room under the care of McGee.

"Hey, _Affe_," she said with a laugh, bending down to pick up her son, who had immediately run from wherever he had been hiding toward the elevators. "Were you being good?"

"Yes, Mommy," he said, nodding seriously.

"_L__ü__gner_," Maddie muttered from her position behind DiNozzo's desk. Gracy gave Nate a stern expression, making him squirm uncomfortably until she placed him back on the ground.

Maddie waited until Nate had wandered off somewhere outside of earshot before she looked up at her mother, a serious expression on her face. "Did you get the bad guys?"

Gracy bent down to where her daughter was sitting on the floor. "We got them. All of them." She paused before adding, "It's over, Maddie. The men who hurt Daddy and hurt you won't be hurting anyone else."

"Are you sure?" Maddie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gracy hadn't even realized that Gibbs was listening until he bent down next to her. "We're sure, Maddie. It's over." She still looked doubtful, which prompted Gibbs to ask, "Do you want to see for yourself?"

"Gibbs," Gracy said in surprise, her head whipping toward him, her eyes wide. She was nearly as astonished when she saw Maddie slowly nod her head. Gibbs nodded in return, straightening and offering his hand, which Maddie took.

"Gibbs," Gracy repeated, also standing. "I don't know if—"

"She wanted to see, Sonja," Gibbs interrupted. "She needs to see that he can't hurt her again." She still wasn't sure, but she nodded her assent, remaining rooted in place as the NCIS special agent and small girl walked hand-in-hand toward the elevator.

Gibbs stopped outside Observation and lowered himself to Maddie's eye level. "Are you sure?" he asked again. When she nodded, he explained, "You're going to be able to see him, but he can't see you. He is in NCIS custody, and he doesn't have any weapons, and he'll never be able to hurt anybody ever again. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice carrying just the slightest tremor. He nodded and pushed open the door to Observation. She followed him in.

His eyes focused on the small girl, he didn't look through the two-way mirror until he heard her gasp. Still slumped in the chair, his arms still held behind him, was Musawi. New were the cuts on his forehead and a black eye that was nearly swollen shut. Leaning causally against the door, examining her fingernails, was Officer Ziva David. Gibbs smiled thinly; apparently, she had taken his command to make sure Musawi knew who he was dealing with seriously.

Maddie's eyes were wide, still fixed on the terrorist in the middle of the room. Gibbs bend down and picked her up, using both arms to balance her on his hip. "He can't hurt you anymore," he repeated. "He can't hurt anybody. He's going away for the rest of his life, with people with big guns guarding him to make sure he doesn't get out. It's over."

She nodded before burying her face in his neck, her eyes peeking out just enough to watch Musawi, memorizing the broken, caught man to replace her memories of the man who held a gun to her head, making her scream and making her mother cry.

Gibbs didn't know how long they were standing there in Observation, neither saying anything as they both watched the unmoving scene in front of them. He hadn't been sure coming down here was such a good idea; seeing a beaten terrorist wasn't on the top of his list of activities to do with seven-year-old girls. However, most seven-year-old girls hadn't faced the kinds of terrors that this one had. The last seven-year-old girl he had held in his arms had lived a happy life, playing with friends in the backyard and learning how to sand a boat in the basement. Kelly's life had been free from terrors—right until the last few seconds.

He used his free hand to stroke Maddie's hair, beginning to feel her relax in his arms. In the back of his mind, he wondered if his reasons for bringing her down here weren't more selfish than he initially thought, as if helping one little girl would make him feel less guilty about the one he couldn't help.

Any such concerns were erased a moment later. "Thank you, Agent Gibbs," Maddie whispered. "Thank you for getting the bad guys."


	31. Chapter 31

**Deep Lacerations: Chapter 31**

* * *

After the excitement of her first week as the CID liaison to NCIS, Special Agent Sonja Gracy was surprised when the next three months passed without major incidence. There were cases—many of them, in fact—and while she still occasionally got scolded for spending too much time analyzing the body or retreating into "Doctor-speak", as DiNozzo called it, with Ducky, the entire team had to admit that she picked up most of the finer points of crime scene analysis and interrogation in those three months. She had pulled her Sig from her holster more times than she would like to contemplate, had worked far too many hours for a single mother, and put up with more childish behavior from DiNozzo and David than she did from her own children, but Gracy wouldn't have traded those three months for anything. She was respected, she was a member of a team, and for the first time in over a year, she was feeling herself moving forward.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo frowned slightly as he followed Officer Ziva David into the bullpen one morning, trying to figure out what felt wrong about the situation. Gracy had beaten them in, which was hardly unusual—he could count on one hand the number of days she had been late during her three month tenure. Gibbs wasn't at his desk, but there was a long list of places he could be, with the coffee shop at the top of said list.

"Morning, Ziva, Tony," Gracy said with a smile as she glanced up to see the two agents. Suddenly, DiNozzo figured it out.

"Today's the day, isn't it?" he asked, feeling surprisingly sad about that fact. He guessed after working with one liaison for almost four years that the idea of losing another after only three months seemed a bit strange. "They're shipping you back to CID this morning."

Gracy smiled slightly. "Something like that," she said as she checked the drawers again for something she might have left behind. Her brown shoulder bag, usually tucked underneath her desk, was now sitting on top, open as she packed up the few things she had brought with her.

All three heads turned toward the elevator expectantly as Special Agent Tim McGee stepped out and began walking toward them. DiNozzo had to admit that the probie was looking pretty good for himself, but then waved it off, attributing it to the four hours a day of work conditioning and physical therapy he had been getting for the last six weeks. He stared hard at the elevator doors, willing them to open again, revealing their boss before Gracy had made the official hand-off and left the building. If she made it out of the building without the two of them saying goodbye… He had to quickly hide his smirk. He didn't know what was going on between those two—probably nothing, considering the fact that they were both professionals—but to quote Abby after one of her trips to the bullpen: "I can't stand all the staring!" He knew that she was referring to him and Ziva as much as Gibbs and Gracy, but still. The whole situation was strangely reminiscent of when Kate first joined the team, although the conversations were completely different. He couldn't recall Gibbs and Kate ever getting into a discussion about pre-school or the proper amount to spend on a friend's birthday present.

"Welcome back, Agent McGee," Gracy said with a smile, the first to greet the returning teammember. "I'll be done with the desk in just a minute."

"Take your time," McGee said politely.

"Yeah, take your time," DiNozzo echoed. "Take as much as you want. Oh! How about if you stay, and we send McGee over to CID. I think we can all agree that that would be a decision that would benefit all of us."

"Very funny, Tony," McGee replied, rolling his eyes.

"I don't think my superiors would be all that happy with that arrangement, either," Gracy said. "Not that you're not a great agent, McGee, you're just not really what they're expecting."

"I understand. Oh, those books are in the bottom drawer."

"Oh! I completely forgot." Gracy reached into the bottom drawer to remove two copies of _Rock Hollow_. "These will be the best Mother's Day gifts ever. Thanks, McGee."

"The McNovel?" DiNozzo asked with a frown. "Best Mother's Day gifts ever? And why two?"

"Mother, mother-in-law," she replied, holding them up in turn. "Or mother-in-law, mother. I'll be sure to check the signatures before wrapping them up. They're both huge Thom E. Gemcity fans." DiNozzo gave a disapproving sigh and shook his head, but didn't comment. "Well, I think that's it," Gracy finally said, glancing around the desk. She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Thanks, guys. It was a good three months."

"Take care of yourself," DiNozzo said, surprising both Gracy and himself when he gave her a large hug.

"You too, Tony," she replied. "And don't forget to swim with a buddy." They both chuckled about that as she pulled away. She gave Ziva air kisses on each cheek before also giving her a hug. She whispered something in German in the Mossad officer's ear before separating. She gave them another smile and small wave as she headed for the elevators. "I can't really say that it was fun, but…I guess parts of it were fun. Goodbye, Tony, Ziva, McGee." She turned to leave when McGee's voice stopped her.

"Gracy. I think you forgot something." She turned back just in time to see something silver flying through the air, reaching for it reflexively. She opened her palm to see the pair of dogtags Colonel Hauser had given her before they realized how he was involved in the case.

"Thanks, McGee," she said softly. The smile she gave him before turning back to the elevators was almost bittersweet. She was just reaching for the call button on the elevator when the doors opened, revealing a coffee-toting Gibbs. Instead of stepping out, he stepped back, letting her in, before hitting the button for the parking level. "And here I thought you were trying to avoid me on my last day," Gracy finally said after a moment of silence.

"Nope," Gibbs replied. Aware that it was a short trip down, he hit the emergency stop button, earning him a raised eyebrow and another moment of silence. "You did good, Gracy," he finally said. "You turned into a half-way proficient crime scene analyst by the end."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Well, I guess I learned from the best," she replied sarcastically. "Thanks, Gibbs, for everything."

"Well, maybe we'll be working together on something at some point."

She shook her head slightly. "Not unless you're being transferred to Pearl," she said. He looked confused for a second. "I've been assigned to the Pacific Region, stationed in Hawaii. We're moving in a week."

"Oh," he said, somewhat surprised, and somewhat hurt that she hadn't mentioned anything.

"It was rather sudden," she said, as if reading his mind. "Everything went through just last week." She continued speaking when he didn't say anything. "It's a good assignment, really. I think the kids will like Hawaii. Maddie's already getting serious about her swimming, and it's not like there's any shortage of that out there. And I've been looking into buying a house. A real house, with a backyard to play in, not just another condo."

He nodded. "They made a good choice," he finally said. "You'll do a good job out there." He reached forward and started the elevator again. "Goodbye, Sonja." She was surprised that the kiss that he placed on her lips was soft and almost sweet. She wasn't surprise that he tasted somewhat like coffee.

She pulled away as the elevator doors opened, a smile still on her face, the smile that he had seen more and more over the last three months, the one that actually reached her eyes and left the promise that someday, maybe someday soon, she would be capable of being truly happy. "Take care, Jethro." She turned back once as she walked off toward her car, seeing him still standing in the elevator, looking after her as he took a sip of coffee.

And then she was gone.


	32. Epilogue

**Deep Lacerations: Epilogue**

_A/N: So I was going to wait a few days to post this and leave you hanging for a bit in a blatant attempt to get more reviews, but I decided I'm not that mean. Enjoy!_

* * *

**12 Months Later**

NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs shielded his eyes with his hands as he stepped out of the jump seat of the C-130, the bright Baghdad sun contrasting with the dim airplane. "Welcome to Ibn Sina, sir," a young Army specialist standing at attention said as he lowered his arm. "Specialist West, sir. I'm here to help you find your way around this place." The specialist waited as he grabbed his small duffle before continuing. "Would you like me to show you to your quarters, sir?"

"No," Gibbs replied, maybe shorter than he should have been. "I'd rather get started right away. I need to speak the medical examiner who performed Corporal Littlefield's autopsy."

Specialist West seemed a little uncertain, but finally nodded. "Yes, sir. Right this way, sir."

The air inside the hospital was easily thirty degrees cooler than the air outside, a fact Gibbs didn't really appreciate as the sweat that had already managed to soak into his clothes instantly felt cold. "The morgue is this way, sir," the specialist said needlessly. Gibbs figured that's why he was following.

They finally arrived at the double doors marked 'Morgue' in both English and Arabic, only to find the space completely empty. "You do _have_ a medical examiner, don't you, Specialist?" Gibbs asked, frustrated.

"Uh, yes, sir," West stammered. "Uh, follow me, sir." They made their way back to a waiting room-like space, where West gestured for him to stay put while he consulted with another soldier.

Less than two minutes had passed before that soldier approached Gibbs. "Special Agent Gibbs?" he asked. "I'm Sergeant Delaney. Sorry about the confusion. Our pathologist rotates through a lot of hospitals and was out at another one this morning. The convoy should be arriving any minute." As if on cue, the radio on Delaney's waist crackled to life, announcing that the convoy had passed through the gates. "Just a couple of minutes, sir," Delaney said with a nod. "The docs come through here, so if you don't mind waiting…" His voice trailed off, letting Gibbs know he had little choice in the matter. Instead of sitting in the offered seat, he took up position against the wall, his small duffle at his feet.

As promised, less than three minutes had gone by before the outside doors opened, revealing a few dusty-looking Army officers, all physicians and nurses, judging by the patches on their left shoulders. "Major?" Sergeant Delaney asked, approaching one. "There's an NCIS agent to see you about Corporal Littlefield's autopsy."

"Finally," a strangely familiar female voice replied. Gibbs frowned, trying to place it as she removed her boonie hat to reveal dirt-streaked light auburn hair, but in an Army hospital in Baghdad, completely out of any context he knew of, his memory failed him. "I've been trying to get in touch with her about Littlefield for a week."

"I'm not Agent Stowe," Gibbs replied, annoyed. She turned in astonishment at the voice, and then it was his turn to be surprised. The hair was lighter from time in the sun, her freckles seemingly more numerous on the tanned face, but there was no mistaking that tall athletic build or those light brown eyes. "Agent Gracy?"

Major Sonja Gracy grinned at him. "Actually, it's 'Major' or 'Doctor' now, Jethro," she said, her voice almost teasing. He remembered her saying the opposite to Ducky more than fifteen months before, but then, she had sounded sad about the statement.

"So you're—"

"Back in the medical corps," she finished for him, turning so he could see the familiar green and black caduceus patch on her left arm, identical to the one that was still in the top drawer of his desk after the last time he had seen her in uniform. She glanced out one of the windows before turning back to him. "It's a bit chilly out there—only about 110 in the shade. You want to get some coffee and talk about the case?"

Although she mentioned the weather outside, Gracy didn't make any move to leave the hospital, leading him through a somewhat confusing network of hallways until they arrived at a cafeteria. A private handed Gracy the two cups of coffee with a smile, never asking for any payment. "Doctors get free coffee," she explained as they walked away. "My files are in my office. This way." She tilted her head to the side and led the way.

"It's like a real hospital," Gibbs commented. Gracy laughed.

"It _is_ a real hospital," she said. "This isn't Desert Storm, Gibbs. We have infrastructure. And I have a real office, not some tent somewhere." She paused as she thought about that statement. "Well, I have a desk in the morgue, but it's _like_ a real office."

He followed her into the morgue, where her hand reached for the light switch before she realized that the lights were already on. "Sergeant?" she called out. A head peaked out from behind a partial wall, reminding Gibbs, strangely enough, of Jimmy Palmer.

"Ma'am?"

"Do we have any cases?"

"Um, no, ma'am," he replied. "I can, uh, check through your messages from the clinics and other hospitals…"

"No, Sergeant, that won't be necessary," she said with a wave of her hand. "I need to discuss a case with Agent Gibbs, so why don't you take the afternoon off?"

"The Littlefield case?" She looked at him sternly. "Oh. Right. I'll, uh, be going now." Gibbs couldn't help but smile as he scurried away.

"Is there some autopsy assistant catalog that you guys order from?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.

"It takes a special sort to be a pathologist's assistant," she replied dryly. "Anyway, Marine Corporal Littlefield came to my attention a week ago. Looked like a routine blast victim."

"Why'd you do an autopsy if it was a routine blast victim?"

"All deaths in theater get an autopsy," she replied. "I'm the only forensic pathologist in country, but all pathologists can perform autopsies. Actually, legally, any MD or DO can perform an autopsy. Anyway, we split the country into jurisdictions, so to speak, that each pathologist covers. Because of my forensics training, I do all the deaths that occur in my jurisdiction, as well as posts on any suspicious deaths in country. Littlefield, though, was one of the 'in my jurisdiction' autopsies.

"At first, everything seemed normal. Death was due to exsanguination—he bled out after his femoral artery was severed. I retrieved a piece of shrapnel from the wound, which confirmed COD. What got my attention, though, was the lack of defensive markings."

"Defensive markings?"

She nodded, absently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He almost smiled at the gesture; he had gotten used to it in the three months she sat across from him. He wondered then, as now, how she could keep the rest of her hair tightly bound, but that one lock always managed to work its way loose. "The natural instinct is to try to shield the head at a large noise. He should have more wounds dorsal surfaces of his forearms—the outside of his arms-but his wound patterns were more consistent with someone whose arms were tucked under him. Also, he wasn't wearing his Kevlar helmet."

"Which he should have been."

She rolled her eyes. "I may be a POG, Gibbs, but I know when Kevlar should be worn."

"POG?" he echoed, earning him a laugh.

"Oh, come on, that's jarhead lingo."

"I wasn't aware you knew what 'People Other than Grunts' meant."

She shrugged. "I know you guys think of that as an insult, but I don't mind." He still looked confused, so she said, "My usual rounds includes a Navy hospital every other Tuesday. Most of the patients are Marines. I talk to them sometimes." She grinned at his astonished look as she took in the Marine digital camouflage and how comfortable he looked in it, despite his leaving the Corps over a decade before Marines began wearing it. "I like Marines," she said with a shrug. "You tell it like it is. It's...comforting." He just chuckled and took a sip of coffee, allowing her to continue. "I ran an extended tox screen on his blood, which was positive for sodium oxybate. The trade name is Xyrem, but it's also known as GHB. He was so doped up he couldn't move."

"The date rape drug?"

She nodded. "But Xyrem is prescribed for narcolepsy."

"Wasn't aware you could be deployed with narcolepsy."

"Not if the powers that be know you have it," she agreed. She rolled her eyes at his dubious expression. "Oh, come on, we both know how easy it is to 'forget' to disclose medical conditions in order to join the military or be deployed. Anyway, I managed to gain access to AHLTA-T—the in-theater medical record system—and discovered that there are currently seven men in Iraq who have been prescribed Xyrem at some point—four Army, two Air Force, and one Marine."

"That's a small enough list."

"Well, not quite," she corrected. "That doesn't include contractors, or the pharmacists and pharmacy techs who have access to medication."

"The point, Gracy?" he asked with an exasperated sigh. She grinned at the familiar expression.

"One Navy pharmacy tech on the same base as Littlefield had been stationed at Camp Pendleton at the same time as Littlefield. I did some looking into it, and apparently, there was a police report involving Littlefield and HM2 Christopher Woodford's sister." She shrugged. "I had a nice chat with Woodford. He confessed everything. He's been hanging out in the brig for the last four days waiting for you to take him back home. He'll probably plead guilty, so you can skip the court martial and go straight for incarceration at Leavenworth."

He stared at her for a moment, not missing the satisfied expression on her face. "I flew all the way here from Washington, and you already solved my case?"

She grinned. "Well, I learned from the best. Anyway, why do you think I've been so eager to get hold of Agent Stowe for the last week?"

He just shook his head. "You're a _medical examiner_. Don't go giving Ducky any ideas, or he'll start thinking he can investigate our scenes and solving our crimes."

She laughed as she leaned back in her chair, almost toppling over as she was caught by a sudden yawn. "Sorry," she said. "Seven months of working sixteen hour days, seven days a week is catching up to me. So now that we got business out of the way, tell me about the team."

He rolled his eyes. "Ziva and DiNozzo are sleeping together, but they're doing a good job of keeping that under wraps. What?" he asked, misinterpreting the puzzled expression on her face. "You can't tell me you didn't see that coming."

"No, it's just...I thought they already _were_ sleeping together. Never mind. Why does it matter if-oh. It's one of those rules, isn't it?"

"Number twelve: never date a co-worker."

She rolled her eyes. "Right. Heaven forbid you get involved with someone you already know and trust."

He smiled slightly. "So," he said, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "Baghdad?"

"Well, I never did like the cold," she joked before becoming serious. "My name came up a couple of months after I started at Tripler, and I found myself here in September. Caught Nate's first day of kindergarten, but missed his fifth birthday. I did manage to get R&R in December, so I was home for Christmas and Maddie's birthday."

"Tripler," he echoed, naming the Army hospital in Hawaii. "So when you said you were assigned to Hawaii…"

She nodded. "I decided to go back to the medical corps about a month before I left the team," she admitted. "I could have gone back to the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology and stayed in DC, but Chief of Forensic Pathology of the Pacific Region looked better on my resume, and I've always wanted to live in Hawaii." She shrugged and looked away before again meeting his gaze. "You healed me, Gibbs. I guess it took _actually_ seeing Scott in every body I looked at to _stop_ seeing Scott in every body I looked at."

"You healed yourself, Sonja," he replied. He finally broke her gaze to study the bulletin board in front of her desk. There were several random notes on colored pieces of paper, but one corner was dedicated to photos. He gently lifted one away, smiling slightly at the picture of Gracy and her kids at the beach, probably taken during her leave in December. For a minute, he studied the black-haired girl, a set of dogtags-likely Scott Gracy's dogtags that McGee had tossed across the bullpen on that last day-hanging over her swimsuit. "They look look happy," he finally said.

"They are," she said with a nod. "Maddie's doing well. Most days, she's just your typical eight-year-old." She rolled her eyes. "Eight, going on eighteen. You have any advice for surviving the next decade before I can legally kick her out of the house?"

"Sorry," he said. "My parenting expertise ends at eight."

She grimaced. "Sorry, Jethro, I wasn't thinking."

"Don't apologize." That lock of hair had gotten loose again, falling in front of her face. Without thinking about it, he reached over and tucked it behind her ear, which made her laugh.

"Thanks, Gunny, for making sure my hair is regulation, even when I haven't showered in two days."

He chuckled as he lowered his hand. "You look good, Sonja," he finally said. She rolled her eyes.

"You're not the first Marine to try to hit on me in the middle of a warzone, but I didn't come to Iraq to find a boyfriend," she joked.

"No what I meant, Gracy." He took another drink of coffee. "Not often you see someone so relaxed and happy in a warzone, away from her children."

"Well, you said it, Gibbs—I'm away from my children." She grinned before her expression became serious. "When I said you healed me…I wasn't being sarcastic. After my time on your team, I realized that this is where I belong. Not _Baghdad_, but…in uniform, in the autopsy suite. I had a really good experience working with you at NCIS, but I'm not cut out to be a special agent. Being a medical examiner is what I really love. After Musawi and Hauser…well, I realized it's time to come back."

He nodded, seeming to accept that. "So where do you go from here?"

"I'm leaving Iraq on September 5," she said. "I'll be home for Nate's sixth birthday. I already promised them another full school year in Hawaii, but after that?" She shrugged. "I like Hawaii. I like our house and the swimming pool in the backyard and the beach down the street, but the work is a little boring. There's not much forensics work for me, and while bread-and-butter pathology has its perks, it's not really my thing." She met his gaze, a slight smile in her light brown eyes. "I think maybe after that year, I'll see what they have for me back at AFIP. I'm thinking that DC has much more to offer."

**The End**

* * *

_So there it is-I hope you liked it! I really enjoyed writing this and I'm starting to think that Gracy's not done yet. I'm working on something completely unrelated right now, but I have an idea for a sequel somewhere in the back of my mind. If you think there's potential for more, let me know. And thank you to everyone who stuck with it through the end._


End file.
